Journal
by sterek-g
Summary: I read somewhere that whenever life gets a little bit out of hand, it's good to document it. It easier to face the facts when you see them written down, and you can stare them down. So here goes nothing. (Updated every Monday.)
1. Facebook

"AH! Fuck me!"

Thankfully, my dad isn't home to hear me swear as I stub my toe into my dresser. He doesn't like it when I swear.

I give the incomparably inconsiderate piece of furniture a heavy smack over the top, just for good measure. In case it didn't realize the waves of fury rolling off my body were directed at it. I like to make myself very clear.

"Where is that damn phone?" I half-groan, half-whisper to myself, really. I hear it ringing from some far-off land. It's most likely the special ringtone I have for Scott. However, given that he's one of the few people that ever call me his ringtone has practically become the usual one.

"Hello?" I answer as soon as I find it under a pile of clothes. I literally just got home from school, emptied my pockets and took off my shoes before going to use the toilet. How did it even get under there?

"Hey, Stiles, what's up?" he asks me cheerily.

"Uh, not much since twenty minutes ago, when we left school."

"Is everything alright? Why are you all… Bitchy?"

"Really? 'Bitchy'? That's the word you're going for?"

"Did you trip over your own feet again, or something?"

"No…" I reply reluctantly. "I gracefully stubbed my toe."

"Ouch. Listen, it's my mom's birthday on Sunday, and she told me to invite you and your dad for lunch."

"Really? Just us two?" To be honest, I'm expecting something more. Me and my dad, only? Melissa McCall might very well be the nicest, most caring person I have ever met. She's bound to have lots of people who care about her, and love her. At least people at work.

"Is anybody else going to be there?" I press on.

"Uh… Not that I know of. Why?"

"I don't know, I mean, it's her birthday. Doesn't she want to spend it with someone else besides her son's best friend and the town sheriff?"

"Stiles, you and your dad are as close to a family as me and my mom are ever gonna get. It would mean a lot to her if you could come, I'm sure."

"Okay, sure." Scott's pretty good when it comes to the emotional speeches and everything. I wish I were more in touch with my feelings like that. Not in a melodramatic way, it's just that I would like it if my knee-jerk reaction at any kind of emotion weren't to bottle it up inside me until I can't take any more and have a panic attack of varying degrees. "I'll make sure to tell my dad as soon as I see him."

"Alright, thanks. Come over later today."

"I will, bye."

Well, at least it's Friday, which means I can pull the old "I've just missed a lot of sleep throughout the week," and head home early, because if I know Scott—and think I do—he's going to bring Allison tonight wherever we go. There's a reason the words "third wheel" have a negative connotation. Here's the harsh truth kids: it sucks being the third wheel, while the other two romantically hold hands.

I'm not saying that I'm desperate for affection, I'm really not. I'm just sick of being the kid who's on the sidelines while everybody else gets their way.

I yank my MacBook open. A pop-up ad for a kinky adult website remained open from last night.

I swear, that's not the reason I haven't got anybody yet, either. I'm definitely not kinky. I'm open-minded, but not kinky. Then again, what is kinky? Having a few kinks and twists. Makes you special, doesn't it? And to have someone understand and embrace them and love you anyway, unconditionally. It must be something.

It must really be something.

I guess I should also mention that I don't actually suffer from depression, or anything. I just like saying deep, pretentious stuff like that. I like to think that I've got a way with words. They still decide to go galloping out of my brain every time I try and be even remotely flirty with anyone, but I've got a way with them.

Either way, I close the pop-up and remind myself to be a little more careful with what I leave on my computer for my father to accidentally see. I bring up my Facebook homepage and heavily consider deleting my account for just about the millionth time this week. I honestly use it for nothing. I've always thought that phones are a much more useful means of communication than social networking sites.

But, wouldn't you know it, that's the moment when the stars choose to align and I stumble across a notification which said that Scott McCall just became friends with some Derek Hale person. I click on his profile and try to get a decent look at the guy. Unfortunately, most of his pictures are hidden from people that he does not consider his "friends".

"He's probably that new kid," I think to myself. Scott may have mentioned something about some Derek or Dale or whatever joining the lacrosse team. Damn, quitting the team is the best decision I've ever made. Of course, now looking at this guy, I'm beginning to wish I were back on the team, or better yet, on him.

I wonder if my hormones are ever balancing out. The constant horniness, I could do without. I can just see the business cards.

Stiles Stilinski: Perpetual Horndog.

What should I call this, anyway? I've been thinking about "Stiles Stilinski: A Memoir". It has a ring to it. Then again, everything has a ring to it when you add the word "memoir" after it.

Steaming Turd: A Memoir.

Wait, where was I? Right, Derek. I send him a friend request. Not because I'm being a creep and I'm wishing he'll accept my request ASAP so I can look at all his photos, but because I want to make the new kid feel welcome. I'm such a considerate person.

Suddenly, two hours have gone by and it's almost six and I haven't done anything productive except expertly poking around the Internet. My phone lights up.

"You on your way?" the message from Scott reads.

"Yeah," I lie and grab everything that I'll find necessary during tonight. We're probably only going to go to TGI Fridays or something, so my wallet, keys and phone should suffice. I have a fleeting thought about my father still being out of the house before I rush outside, into my Jeep and drive off.

Driving is good. It's great. It's… Swell. I'm going with "swell". I don't care who you are, where you live or what you're going through, whenever you have some kind of issue just get into your car and stop right about never, or at a red light—provided, of course, that you have a license. Thankfully, I don't have any particular qualms to ease, so this time driving is just a few carefree minutes from my home to Scott's.

I pull up outside his house, and there he is, standing with Allison. Only they're both a little bit over-dressed for TGI.

They climb aboard.

"Hey, guys. What's with the outfits?" I ask them immediately. I'm rocking the homeless/hipster look while being surrounded by my well-dressed friends. I'm either about to get Punk'd, or stranded in the middle of a flash mob. It doesn't matter which of the two possibilities transpires, I will still want to drive off a cliff.

"It's for the party. Did Scott not tell you?" Allison squeaks. Apparently, there was a third, unforeseen scenario, which also makes me want to drive off a cliff.

"What? No! Whose party?"

"Sorry, dude," Scott murmurs, and yet looks undaunted.

"Well, what you're wearing is fine, Stiles. We weren't planning on staying for too long, anyway," Allison provides.

"Staying where?" I press on. Why is nobody telling me where they're expecting me to drive them?

"Ah, you wouldn't know him," Scott announces dismissively while waving his hand around. "He's a new kid, I only know him because of the lacrosse team. His friends are throwing him some kind of welcoming party."

"Derek Hale?"

"Yeah, how did you know?"

"I saw that he added you on Facebook."

"You checked out his Facebook?" Allison snorts from the backseat.

"No, the notification just popped up on my news feed!" I'm telling the truth; why am I so nervous?

"He's pretty handsome," she says in a singsong voice. Nothing else is said for the entire car ride, expect directions. Scott stares at me incessantly with absolutely no grasp over the wonders of discretion. Allison sits quietly, satisfied with the bomb she has dropped. It has apparently become her personal agenda in the past few weeks to claw her way into my life and drag me out of the closet.

Here's the thing: Scott's my best friend. He's my brother. I've known him for as long as I can remember and our relationship has done nothing but grow and flourish as time passed. Why add so much stress to the delicate balance of things, especially with something as mundane as the truth?

Or maybe I'm just scared of what he'll say, even if I do know he will have absolutely no problem with anything. Or maybe I just haven't accepted it myself yet, and I'm simply not ready. Maybe both. Maybe neither. Sometimes life likes to play tricks with me like that. Whenever I catch myself thinking "maybe both, maybe neither," I know I'm in some deep shit.

Am I too young to be talking about life like that? All I know is that I'm going to some random person's house party, and I'm way underdressed. Hopefully we can leave early.

Okay, so, something is happening.

Everybody is wearing classy dress shirts—except me—and sleek leather shoes—except me—and looks pristine—except just-rolled-out-of-bed-and-drove-over me. All the girls are equally as appreciative of the dress code. Why is everybody in their best outfits for a freaking house party? This isn't the White House Correspondents Association Dinner or something! Most of us are below eighteen!

"Why do you have your freak out face on?" Allison whines. Apparently, my brain hasn't registered that showing complete and utter displeasure with my expression is not exactly polite.

"I am, way, _way _underdressed for this!" I hiss angrily. I can feel judgmental glances. "You could have given me a warning."

"Oh, come on, don't be like that. Probably nobody cares about what you're wearing," she tries to brush me off. What the hell is she up to tonight?

"Yeah, because I don't know any of these people's names, and I didn't know that I was coming to this party until I was actually coming to the party! Also something you could have warned me about." I can feel my eyes trying to pop out of my skull, smack her across the face and roll across the ground.

"Well, I told you as soon as we got into the car," she replies pathetically. I almost demand an explanation for _something else _she said in the car, but thankfully Scott shows back up to stop the word vomit.

"Here you go, guys," he says ecstatically and hands us our cups. It's punch, fruity but no alcohol. Just as well, I'm going to be driving and I have just about zero percent self-control. It occurs to me that Scott is amongst all of his lacrosse buddies, and somehow Allison knows quite a bunch of the girls, like they're in some kind of high school version of a basketball wives' clique. The point is, people are mingling, and as if I needed another way to stick out, I now have nobody to talk to while Scott chats the night away with some Jackson person and Allison is fervently discussing something with a shorter, beautiful girl with almost red, curly hair.

"Screw this," I murmur to myself. I'm still somewhat pissed at those two for giving me absolutely no warning about the party, but it's an exceptionally weird move, so I'm willing to let it slide by once they provide some reasonable explanation, hopefully tomorrow. If they still think this was absolutely normal of them to do… Well, we'll cross that bridge when we come to it.

In the meantime, I make the professionally precise decision to head over to the tables and indulge myself in some free food.

As I'm piling finger food onto my plate, preparing to eat my feelings until I'm prepared to grovel to get Allison and Scott to leave, somebody talks to me from the opposite side of the table. However, I have been thinking that I am invisible to every well-dressed person, and the sudden recognition catches me off guard, causing me to drop a pig in a blanket on myself get covered in crumbs.

"Hey! Stiles, right?"

This would be where said pig-in-a-blanket-dropping happens.

"Damn it," I mumble and set my plate on the buffet to pat my clothes down. I look up at my new acquaintance. Damn indeed. He's ridiculously good looking, and his arms are bulging through his shirt, I'm melting in his eyes. I want to jump him.

And suddenly it hits me. He's—

"Oh, hi! I remember you!"


	2. Party No 1

I look him up and down once more just to make sure that I'm not going partially blind. His face barely says 17, his eyes shine with innocence and his smile is like a child's. However, the body… Let's just say it's not the kind of body you expect to see on a high school kid. He says something but I miss it completely. I'm too busy trying to see his abs through his shirt.

"What? Sorry, I didn't catch that," I blurt. It's time for conversation. I can ogle him from afar, later.

"I said, 'Do you remember me?'" he asks again, politely. So he's nice, too.

"Of course! Danny, right? From the lacrosse team!" 

"Yeah," he nods. His expression gets even brighter. I feel like I'm looking into the sun, his smile is so white. Sometimes I think it's just plain unfair that some people get all the good traits. Spread them around people! Let everyone have a piece!

"It's a shame that you quit, though. We miss you—I mean, the team misses you."

"The team misses me or the benches?"

"Hey, you played a lot of times!" he exclaims. That's pretty sweet, trying to encourage me. But we both know he's lying.

"I played once, and that was on tryouts," I state monotonously. We both laugh along and next thing I know, we've been talking for about fifteen minutes. We're getting to know each other and he's pretty funny—amazingly, so am I. Now Allison and Scott have finished with their mingling and are standing next to me listening to our conversation. Who would have thought that I would be the one socialising out of the three of us?

It finally dawns on me that I should introduce them.

"I should introduce you guys! Danny, this is Scott, my best and Allison, his girlfriend. Guys, this is Danny. He's on the lacrosse team."

I'm so proud of myself for making a new friend, and so caught up in showing him off that I don't even begin to think that they might actually already know each other.

But maybe it's fine. Maybe I haven't made an ass of myself. Maybe they've never even met.

"Yeah, Stiles, we already know each other," Scott chuckles.

They've met.

I decide to brush it off as coolly as I can and make a quick exit by going to use the bathroom. I thank the stars and heavens that there's no line. Standing somewhere for an extended period of time makes me nervous, like I'm an easy target for judgment. I don't know what to do with myself. Actually, a lot of things make me nervous. Even trying to not be nervous makes me nervous.

I get in and lock the door behind me. I look at myself in the mirror and I'm immediately reminded how out of place I look dressed like this.

Who the hell wears a two piece suit to a high school house party?

I wash my hands for no reason and walk out. Actually, 'walk out' is a bit of an overstatement. 'Stumble into the person who was about to knock the door' is much more accurate.

Once we both manage to steady ourselves and say our half-heard curses and apologies, I take a look at him and I'm just angry.

Whoever decided that all the jocks of this school get to be this hot needs to be hung from a post. I've seen him around the school once or twice this year, but this is the first time I've been within touching distance.

Why did I use touching as a reference? I'm such a creep sometimes. I consider introducing myself, but then I realise that I have an impossibly slim chance of ever meeting him again, let alone being friends or anything more with him. However, my brain is down between my legs and my horniness wins over.

"Hey, I'm Stiles," I smile awkwardly. I don't care if you're judging me, I really don't. Dignity is overrated.

"Isaac," he smiles politely yet coldly. And then everything went quiet. Shit. I didn't plan for this part of the conversation. Before I can say anything, he just points to the bathroom over his shoulder, mumbles something and walks away. I walk back to my friends, still astounded at how awkward that was. Danny is nowhere in sight.

"So," Allison begins squeakily. "You seem to be making friends quite easily."

"I'm a sociable guy," I growl. Scott scoffs at my remark.

"Don't worry, we don't have to stay much longer," he reassures me. "We just had to stop by because I'm on the team with these guys and it would be rude to not even show up."

"No, it's cool," I blurt out. "We can stay as long as you want."

"Really? You always say that you get tired really early on Fridays," he says and squints at me. Maybe I should stop pulling that trick. It doesn't seem to be as discreet as I had first thought.

"Really," I nod. He smiles warmly, locates some random acquaintance somewhere off in the corner and walks away while waving and making a funny entrance.

Thankfully, that frees up my attention so I can now shamelessly gawk at the deity that is descending from the heavens, or more accurately, the staircase. He's tall, lean, dark yet pale, serious yet inviting, firm yet relaxed. I immediately recognise him as the host of the party: Derek Hale. I might as well be at an Armani show after party, what with all the model-looking people running around.

Quite unfortunately though, Allison promptly yanks me by the elbow, out through the balcony door and onto the patio. A couple of guys nearby are standing outside too, smoking their cigarettes in the freezing winter cold, so she moves me away from them so she can scold me in private.

"Allison, what the hell!" I exclaim.

"Stiles, you have to tell Scott!" she hisses. She's getting good at that lately.

"Tell him what?" I ask. I try to look genuinely confused, but I know it doesn't matter whether or not I've succeeded, because either way she's going to tell me what I don't want to hear. She's going to say the words I've been keeping inside for so long, not because I'm still understanding them, but because I'm too scared that if I say them out loud, they're actually going to mean something.

"That you're _gay_!"

And there it is. Just like that, my chest tightens and my stomach is threatening to empty itself out through every possible orifice. Now that it's out there, I have to admit it. I can't deny it. She knows it's true and we both know that. Just like that, I'm different. I'm a target. I'm someone to be judged by my friends and family and the rest of society and—

"Stiles, are you okay? You've got tears welling up. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be so forward, I just had to do something—"

"No, it's fine," I murmur numbly. I realise she's right. I'm almost crying in a stranger's back yard. Why am I reacting like this? I've known for so long, but I can't help but feel this sort of melancholy in my brain and my heart and the rest of my body. It's already settling into place and I hate it. I stand up straight, snivel a little bit and shove my hands into the pockets of my hoodie.

"It's not your fault," I try to smile at her. That's all it took for me to fall back into the routine of fake smiles and pretending there's nothing eating at me from the inside. Less than ten seconds. "I should have come clean earlier."

"It was your secret to say, Stiles," she shakes her head as if she's just completed some terrible, irreversible deed.

"It doesn't look like I did much of a job keeping it a secret," I say, shrugging half-heartedly. "It's not your fault Scott's just oblivious to these kinds of things. He's… trusting. He trusts me. He knows that if I want to tell him something, I will. And I haven't said anything, so he doesn't think anything's different."

"Different since when?"

"Since when we were little kids. We used to be inseparable, you know. Practically the same person. Not that we've had some kind of falling out, but we've just… Grown up," I say nostalgically. Half the stuff that's coming out of my mouth, I'm realising as I say it. "We're still just as close as we've ever been, but we're almost adults now. We all have a few dark secrets we could never share with anybody. Everybody does."

"This doesn't have to be that kind of secret, though," she tries to soothe me. "You don't have to keep it inside you because it's nothing to be embarrassed about." 

"I know," I say, and nod. I think that I really do 'know'. "I just think that maybe it'll come as much of a shock to him as it's come to me and it's going to be too much."

"Stiles, Scott loves you more than anybody. Nothing could make him stop wanting to spend time with you, and I'm sure of that!"

I don't know what else to say. I don't want to talk about this anymore. I'm tired, I want to sleep, and I mean it this time. I ask Allison if we can go inside, she makes a joke about me staring at all the hot guys, we walk back in with a newfound friendship. Somehow, I'm comfortable with all of this. I'm satisfied with everything that's happened. I don't care who's walking in front of me, what the guy by the bar is wearing and whose ass looks unbelievable in those pants. I'm just happy that that just happened and it honestly feels like the beginning of something new in my life. It puts things into perspective, kind of.

Shit.

Why? Why did that have to happen? Why was that so impossibly necessary that the world could simply not go on spinning without that happening?

I guess you don't know what I'm talking about.

Shit.

As I lay in bed, looking back on tonight, I'm going to have to say that I blame Allison for practically everything. And to think of how well we had been bonding. It's a shame. Really.

Everything started when we went back in, and I announced to Scott that I would like to go home. Polite as ever, he asked me if I would like to join the two of them lovebirds for dinner afterwards—I declined; also politely—and he proceeded to wonder aloud about the whereabouts of the host, so we could bid him goodnight and exit gracefully. Thankfully, he was right behind us, so, upon hearing Scott, he announced himself.

The only good thing that came out of that situation was that I found out the only cure that can—temporarily—quench my insatiable thirst for cute boys: emotionally draining and extremely personal conversations with Allison. When we faced Derek and told him that we had to leave I wanted nothing more to get home to my bed when she turned around and asked Derek if he knew me.

"Uh…" was his initial reply. Oh, and I knew I was turning red. Bright fucking red, bright enough to turn a person blind. "I've seen him around the school, yeah," he had finally concluded. I would have been disappointed had I not been a little preoccupied with keeping my internal screams internal. His nod was friendly, but definitely restrained. By this point my thoughts revolved around shoving Allison's hair in her own mouth to get her to shut up.

"Yeah, so why don't you two get to know each other a little better while we say goodbye to Jackson and Lydia?" she'd said cheerfully and dragged Scott off.

Imagine a hand sprouting from within your own body, grabbing your windpipe and choking you. Those were my emotions. Derek shoved his hands in his pockets and tried to look nonchalant. He failed.

"So, your party looks like a great turnout!" I'd laughed nervously. That's kind of ironic if you think about the fact that instead of laughing, I really wanted to be crying.

"Yeah, I invited the whole team, and told them to bring whomever they wanted," he'd chuckled awkwardly. 'Whomever'? Add 'intelligent' the list of things Derek is that I wish I were.

"I'm assuming you came here with Scott?" he'd went on. To be perfectly honest, it was pretty sweet of him to try and keep the conversation flowing, and the silences as far and few in between as possible. I remember thanking the heavens for his question. I could really drag my answer out, make sure that I had to leave before I even finished.

"Well, we met when we were really little, because of our parents. See, Scott's mom is a nurse, and my dad works in the police department. With all the crime injuries and gun shot wounds my dad had to run to the hospital every two or three days to get a report. That's how he met Ms. McCall." I'd have kicked myself a little bit for calling her 'Mrs. McCall'. Did it make me look like a dork? Or polite?

"Long story short, they met in the hospital and they realised they both had sons of the same age, so they introduced us. And we've been best friends ever since." However, Scott and Allison are taking their sweet time gossiping with those other two.

He made some remark that I'm sure would have been charming had I been paying enough attention but I was intent on not letting the awkward silence take its hold now. While furiously searching for another topic, that Isaac person from before came up and asked Derek something. Good. I have extra time. I figured that if I got desperate I could always talk about school, but something else popped up.

"Sorry about missing the memo on the dress code, by the way, but I didn't know I was coming to your party until about half an hour ago!"

He smiled brightly at that. Damn, he had a pretty smile.

"Perfectly understandable—" He was about to say something else, I could tell, but finally Scott and Allison returned with the announcement that we had to depart. After we did so, I dropped them both off at Scott's where they took Allison's car to the diner, but not before they invited me to join them yet again. Honestly, I would have gone, but I just couldn't handle being so close to Allison without being able to yell at her.

Nobody, and I mean nobody has ever put me on the spot like that! What kind of jackass move was that? Even if it did result in my conversation with Derek!

Suddenly, it's Derek. Everything is about him, my entire thoughts are Derek-oriented. We actually hit it off. I mean, it was just about a minute long, but…

No! I'm supposed to be angry at Allison right now, not dreaming about boys like a little schoolgirl. As if it weren't enough for her to force me out of the closet—and yes, I'm aware of how cheesy that sounds—she had to…

Somehow, I lose interest in her. I'll scold her tomorrow. For now, I just drift asleep with a smile on my face.


	3. Out

Who is that? Somebody's walking toward me. Their shoes are clacking loudly. It's probably a girl.

Who is she? Even though she's shouting, her voice is so muffled I can barely tell what she's saying, let alone recognise her voice. Instantaneously, everything goes from unbearably blurry to crystal clear. It's Allison. The next second, I'm somehow standing alone, in the pitch black darkness, and I'm weirdly aroused.

"Then again," I think, "it could just be plain, old morning wood."

What?

Shit. It's morning. That was a dream. It makes more sense now.

To keep with the theme of weirdness, I get up less than half an hour after I wake up. I actually open my eyes for the first time today and swing my legs over the side of the bed within the same minute.

When I see my father in the kitchen reading some article about a theft he's investigating, I realise I didn't see him all day yesterday.

"Hey Dad," I greet him.

"Morning," he mumbles without even looking up. At least you can't say he's not devoted.

"Did you make anything?"

"Nope." No pancakes? He always makes pancakes on Saturday mornings. I guess I'll have to make them today. We've finally reached the point in our relationship where I take care of him instead than him taking care of me. Sooner or later, I'll be getting him a Life Alert and some adult diapers. As I start making breakfast for myself and my now seemingly elderly father, I remember something.

"Father?"

This gets him to look up.

"Scott invited you and me to his mom's birthday lunch thing on Sunday."

"Sunday, as in tomorrow?"

"Yeah."

"Where is it going to be?"

"Uh, their place, I think," I reply honestly. Did Scott tell me? I can't even pretend to remember.

"Their house? How many people are they going to fit into a single dining room?" he asks. I realise, that's actually a legitimately logical question. Why didn't I think of that when Scott was telling me? My dad: the sheriff.

"Oh, no, it's only going to be you and me and the two of them." When I say this, I try to distinguish the sizzling noises between the batter hitting the frying pan and his brain short-circuiting at the news.

"What? Why?"

"I don't know, that's what I asked Scott. I figured that someone as nice as his mom would have a ton of people to invite, but he just said that me and you are like their family, or something like that, and he said she only wants to spend her birthday with us."

By this point, he's put the paper down altogether. He furrows his brows at me. When he opens his mouth to speak, he just shuts it without producing any word.

"Are you sure, Stiles?"

"Yes."

"Well, I guess we just have to shut up and do it, don't we? I mean, it _is _her birthday."

I shrugged and tilted my head while placing the first pancake on my own plate. It soaks up most of the oil. I don't want my dad eating that.

After that, it's just a plain old Saturday. It's kind of cloudy outside and it's drizzling and I feel like I'm in Twilight. Where's my hunky wolf-man to teach me how to ride a motorbike?

I thank my lucky stars that the homework for Monday only takes me about an hour to complete. I even did that Chemistry exercise we had. _Chemistry. _I'm such a good student today, I deserve a flipping award. However, there is something blaringly obvious here, which I will demonstrate in case you have yet to pick up on it, my mysteriously imaginary reader.

I'm only being so thorough to avoid thinking about Allison. Because I know that if I start doing that, I'll get myself pissed, and pissed at her, more specifically. By extension, I'll be pissed at Scott as well, which can't be good because it's just past noon and it's time for his weekly call to ask me over to hang out. I have a fleeting thought of coming out today when my stomach threatens to majestically lunge out of my body through my mouth, so I postpone that thought for the time being.

Back to the point. Allison. Damn.

What the hell was last night? I wasn't even drunk and everything went out of whack. I guess it started with the whole 'gay' thing. To be honest, I'm not sure if it's a mean thing to say or not, but now that I think about it, I don't really couldn't give a damn about her figuring it out. It's Scott that gets me all worried.

But then, she made all those innuendos and left me alone with (sizzling-hot) Derek! What was I meant to do there? She was hardly being discreet; I'd be very lucky if Scott didn't connect the dots, and he's not stupid—contrary to popular belief—he could have easily gotten the hint. Maybe I should just tell him today and get it over with. But then again, something as important as this, should it have some sort of build-up? Shouldn't it be something more than just a chore you "get out of the way"?

I've read somewhere that secrets that only you know aren't secrets at all, they're just unspoken fears. The ones you share with someone, those are the real secrets. Only now am I realising how true this is. Practically, the only satisfying time to have made such a declaration is yesterday. Maybe if I'd gotten some booze in me, I would have come clean hours ago.

I need to calm down. I need help. I resort to texting Allison. Before I even manage to put my phone down, wouldn't you know it, Scott's number pops up and it starts shaking like crazy.

"Hey," I answer.

"Hey, Stiles. Do you mind if I come over today, instead?" he asks awkwardly.

"Yeah, sure," I say calmly. Inside, I'm dying.

"Alright, cool. I'll be there soon."

For a second, I almost run to the toilet.

He wants to come over? What's happening? Why? He knows, damn it! I wanted to be the one to tell him! Shit, what if Allison told him? No, she wouldn't be _that _person. What if he hates me for it? No that can't be, he's totally fine with Danny being gay. Damn it, what is going on?

As my lungs refuse to coordinate with each other, I try to keep myself busy by cleaning up. It's a lost cause, really. Everywhere you turn, it's clothes, clothes, more clothes, plates, that book I've been looking for about to get lost for another week or so…

The doorbell rings. How the hell is he here already? This day is just plain weird.

"How did you get here already, you called me, like, half a minute ago!"

"I was already on the way. Why are you holding those jeans?"

I look at my hand. I'm holding a pair of jeans.

"I'm cleaning up."

"Your room?"

I nod.

"Wouldn't it be easier just…to move houses?"

"Yes, it would, Scott," my dad yells from the kitchen. I laugh uncomfortably as we walk to my room.

"How come you wanted to hang out over here today?"

"I haven't been to your house in over a week! I was having a withdrawal," he jokes.

"No, really," I laugh along as carelessly as possible. He frowns at me. Did I go too far?

"Why do I need to have a reason? You're acting weird. Is something going on?"

Of course, the best defense is offence. So I just start pummeling away.

"Well, you're the one who wanted to change things up with the houses and asking me all these weird questions and I'm just acting weird because things are out of balance so in reality it's all your fault, in which case I'm very understandably weird but you are not."

He furrows his brow at me in confusion while he plops down on the single patch of visible bed. I put my jeans… anywhere, really. It seems like a good policy.

"So, no reason?"

"Nope."

I look at him and he looks at me. Suddenly I have a flashback. We're barely eleven and we're running around his backyard, dying to be covered in dirt. We find a small patch of mud and decide to make optimum use out of it. We grab a small plate from inside the house, take the dirt and make the letter "S" on it, our common initial. Then we repeatedly microwave it until it solidifies into clay, so we can hold it and maybe even paint it without it crumbling to pieces, which it simply refuses to do. Then his mom comes into the kitchen to find us sticking a plate of mud into her microwave oven and freaks out.

It doesn't matter that she yelled at us, though. I'm only now realising how accidentally symbolical that moment was. That was the moment Scott became more than my best friend forever of all my best friends forever: my brother.

"Scott, I need to tell you something, but promise you'll be cool about it."

"Okay," he replied carefully.

Here's the thing with coming out: it's never a breeze. Even if you do it a million times, your throat still tightens just a little bit before the words are out.

"I'm, uh… Gay."

His eyebrows shoot up and a bright smile is drawn across his face.

"Yeah, I know," he nods at me. The brightness of those teeth are killing me. "But your dad's face is telling me that he didn't."

I whip around. My dad is at the door.


	4. Phonecall

Okay, so, long story short, after that happened with my dad, Scott decided it was time to end his short visit. I then proceeded to have a heart-to-heart with my father which only felt about a billion light years long.

I don't know if I should mention the details or not—I guess, if I were someone else I would be really curious as to what happened—but there's not much to say, either way. It was the generic how-long-have-you-known, are-you-sure, I-just-don't-want-you-to-get-hurt, I-will-always-love-you conversation you hear in every sappy story. Having said that, I have to admit I did cry a little bit. And don't get me wrong, I know how lucky I am to have such an accepting dad, I just _really _wanted to get out of there.

He gives me a tight hug and a wholehearted pat on the back as I walk out of the front door. It's Saturday morning. There's a slight breeze, and it's a little too cold for me, so I run back inside for a sweatshirt. Winter is on full blast, and Christmas is right around the corner.

When I slam the Jeep door shut, I realise I have no idea where Scott is, so I give him a call. Thankfully, he's at home, and I'm also there within minutes.

I run into his mom in the living room and she tells me he's sitting out back. I take two cups of coffee with me, and offer him the one in the yellow mug. He loves it.

"So, how did it go with your dad?" he asks me with a small smile.

"Pretty good." It's quiet all around. The mornings on weekends are something else. Birds are chirping, a car in the distance screeching, Scott's mother inside trying to rearrange something.

"You're happy?" Is it a statement or a question?

"I am," I reply honestly. Suddenly, this is one of those times in life where you can see a moment becoming a memory in front of your very eyes. Now, this can be very depressing, or satisfying. I opt for the secret, third, bittersweet scenario: nostalgia inducing, and yet appropriate.

"You know I still think you're my brother, right?" he goes on. I smile at him, and look down at my coffee. I'm lucky to be surrounded by such people.

"So, you knew?"

"Oh, hell yeah. Before even you did, probably," he says. I think about that for a second and realise it's true, so I breathe a carefree laugh as I bring my mug up to my lips.

"Does anybody else know?"

"Allison figured it out. She told me last night at the party."

Scott stops smiling for a second.

"Sorry that I didn't tell you we were going—" I cut him off with a wave of my hand. I don't care anymore. Not about walking around some GQ models in my sweats, not about them keeping me out of the loop, not even about Allison being a little brat, in my opinion. Today is too perfect to fuck up with all of that.

"It's fine," I explain. It really is. The day I have been dreading with my entire existence has finally arrived, and it's fine.

"We should do something today, the three of us," he says. I raise my eyebrow at him. "I'm serious. Let's go have lunch together or something. You can even bring a date."

"We have lunch together every weekend," I smile broadly at him.

"Yeah, but today is going to be different."

"How?"

"Fuck, Stiles, I don't know! Just different!"

We have another laugh before he calls Allison and invites her over so we can all ride in the same car. I think it's strange how this is probably one of the most emotionally charged days of my life, or at least one of the top ten, and all I feel is a weak, yet ever-present buzz of contentedness. Other than that, I seem to have no opinion on anything.

When she arrives, Scott goes to meet Allison at the front door. He probably tells her what happened because she comes and sits at the head of the table, between the two of us. He then goes inside to get her a cup as well.

"How are you feeling?" she asks giddily.

"Allison, honestly, I think it was a really shit move of you last night to out me like that. You don't do that to people, especially when they haven't told anybody else in their entire lives."

She stares at me dumbstruck.

"Thanks," I go on. "I needed that… Wake-up call."

I smile as well as I can at her to show her that I'm not angry anymore, just for good measure. Hopefully she gets the message.

We briefly have a heated discussion about where to have our lunch. It's a tie between that Italian restaurant and TGI Fridays, and I hold the tie-breaking vote. Of course, I go for TGI Fridays, because I'm in the mood for a burger the size of my head. Surprisingly, it was Allison's suggestion.

She and I end up waiting for Scott by the door as he's lost somewhere in the house trying to grab a jacket. He's taking a little bit too long, but he shows up after all. While Allison is getting into the driver's seat, Scott nudges my shoulder and hangs back. I take the hint, so I also stall getting into the car.

"Should I tell my mom?" he asks me. I give it some thought. She's the closest thing I have to a mother now, but does she expect me to sit her down and tell her?

"Sure," I conclude and get in the passenger seat. Allison drives us to our destination, where, for some reason, we have to wait ten minutes before we get a table at noon on a Saturday.

Finally, once we sit down and give our orders, I notice somebody a couple of tables over.

"Where do I know them?" I say and nod my head at the two guys also having lunch. Their bodies say they're in their twenties but their faces tell me they're around my age.

Both Allison and Scott look over their shoulders. "From a crazy night out?" she smiles at me. Apparently I am prime mocking material for the next few days. Please, God, don't let there be puns, too.

"That's Danny and Isaac from the party last night. We should actually go say hi," Scott provides. Not that I know them, but I did share a short chat with Danny so I decide to walk over with the couple and say a polite 'hello'. Danny remembers me and is seemingly pleased at my reappearance into his weekend. Isaac remembers me as well. He does not look like he wants to exactly cuddle me up.

Finally, I come to the conclusion that I find Danny surprisingly cute. Damn, I'm not out of the closet for a full day and I'm already cruising for guys. Talk about hormones.

"Stiles! We met at the party last night," he remarks. I stare at him blankly. Why do people make statements like that? Honestly, what do you expect me to reply? "Indeedio"?

"Yeah, I remember our heart-to-heart over the snacks," I finally reply. I've probably done something right as he smiles back at me. Isaac looks neither pleased nor displeased. _Can _he smile?

"We'll let you guys get back to your food," Allison says and each person goes back to their seat. Somehow, I've picked the one that faces Danny. And Danny's arms. And chest.

Shit. Concentrate. Menu.

Naturally, I get the biggest thing they serve that doesn't qualify as a whole animal, Allison complains about the fact that I never gain any weight, I explain the not-so-obvious disadvantages to having such a crazy metabolic rate: the usual.

"So," Allison decides to begin halfway through our meal, "have any guys caught your eye?"

"Not yet," I lie. I remain surprisingly calm after her question. 5 awesome points for me. "I'll make sure to inform you as soon as possible."

"Please do so," she nods. "God knows I love her, but Lydia is the worst person you can listen to about guys. Her taste is so… Greedy."

"You talk about other guys?" Scott suddenly pipes up.

"Mostly she talks, and I give her advice."

"Advice about what?" I scoff. "How to cheat on Jackson _without _the entire school finding out this time?" Ah yes, the wondrous scandal of the New Year's Eve party of 2012. Juicy stuff.

"Come on, she was drunk," Allison tries to defend her.

"So what? You don't take your panties off every time you're drunk, do you?"

Scott's eyebrow shoots up at my remark, and Allison tries to hide her smirk. She goes to kick Scott under the table but gets me instead. She doesn't seem to realise, however and I decide not to tell her. Ignorance is bliss, right?

Somehow, eventually, Scott's mother's birthday lunch/thing comes up. I'm surprised when he invites Allison.

"What?" is her reply.

"Why don't you come tomorrow? She loves you. Bring your parents, too!"

"Scott," she chuckles in a way that says she does not want to attend. "It's not _your _party. I don't think you can invite me, it doesn't really work like that. It's your mom's call."

"Okay, so I'll ask her as soon as I get home," he concludes with a satisfied smile. He then moves on to a totally different topic while Allison remains frozen to the spot. He says something about some upcoming Christmas holiday party someone is having, and I try to listen (I really do!) but the sight of Danny's arms being barely contained by his top is so very distracting. I guess it just goes to show that, gay or straight, teenage guys are pretty much horny every single minute.

"Stiles?" Scott interrupts me.

"Yeah?"

"Are going to come to the party?"

I think it over. "Sure," I conclude. It's not like there's any chance of me being busy otherwise. Plus, if the previous party is anything to go by, it should be pretty interesting.

When we finish our meal, we get up to leave, but not without saying a quick goodbye to Danny and Isaac. I then come to the realisation that I've only been wanting to feel Danny's arms and thighs and the rest of his body, but not listen to his words, regardless of his great sense of humour. I make a mental note to actually get to know the guy. I think we take Chemistry together?

Allison drives us around randomly for a little bit and we have a brief discussion in the car about music. It's the one thing Scott and I disagree upon.

"Why are we stopping here?" I say. Allison opens her mouth but Scott beats her to it.

"I want to go in that store, check out what they have for the party," he says as he points across the street. _That store _turns out to be Target.

After a good ten minutes of roaming around, following Scott and hearing screaming children in the distance, I ask, "I thought your mother wanted a small get-together. What are you looking to buy here?"

"No, it's not for her party," he explains.

"Then whose?"

"Mine! Weren't you listening before?" he whines.

No.

"Yes! I just didn't think you'd want to start looking for supplies so soon," I manage to explain.

"Well, it's only a couple of weeks from today, and I'm going to invite everybody in a week, so that only leaves me with seven days to get everything ready."

"No, it doesn't. You know, you can still go looking for stuff after you've already invited every—"

"Oh, that looks good!" he exclaims as her runs away. Allison realizes there is no way she's going to keep up, so she falls back with me.

"So, are you going to Scott's mom's lunch tomorrow?" she asks carefully.

"Yeah, about that. Why don't you want to go?"

"Hey, who said I don't want to go?"

"Your face."

She scowls at me.

"It's just that… It's Scott's mom," she explains with a tone and a face that's supposed to imply something, something I don't get. "She's the nicest person ever and all that, but she's my boyfriend's mother. I don't belong at her birthday party, much less my parents!"

"Yeah, I guess so… But if Scott asks her and she's fine with it—"

"As if she's going to tell him 'No'."

To be honest, for some reason, I'm completely torn. On one hand, I think she's being a bitchy little brat. On the other hand, I think she's perfectly correct. Oh, puberty.

"Look, just come to the thing, stay for an hour or two, then say you have some other kind of commitment and take off with your parents. You can handle two hours of awkward, right?"

"I guess so," she mumbles.

All in all, it's a good trip to Target. Scott buys just about a billion red plastic cups, the kind you see in all the high school house parties in every teenage-oriented Hollywood film. We manage to stuff them all in the car, Allison drives me home, then she goes on her way with Scott. We have a fleeting agreement to get together for dinner as well if nothing comes up by then.

I stumble into my room and decide to stumble out again. I go to the kitchen, grab myself a Coke, and stumble back. It's not that I'm tired, but I literally have got nothing to do. I sit on my bed and look outside the window for a second, and I catch my reflection on the glass.

I think of how I look exactly the same, even though I've gone through something so huge and meaningful in my life over the past twenty-four hours—I'm out now. Or at least, that's how I will myself to feel. That's what people always say when they look at their reflections, don't they? How the change they've just gone through might have actually been much less shocking than they'd built it up to be, and that it puts things into perspective and all that. Maybe it does, maybe it doesn't. Personally, I think it could, but it doesn't as often as we think. More often than not, your reflection does nothing but induce a baseless sense of nostalgia if you stare at it long enough.

I'm so desperate to give my mind something else to think about, preferably not as melodramatic, that I actually open my bag and pull out some—God forbid—homework. Of course, I'm blasting music as I'm trying to complete it and I'm not sure if it helps or not, but either way, it keeps me from committing arson.

It's only an hour later when I'm sitting at my desk and I get a text message:

_Hey, can I call you? Scott gave me your number._

—_D._

What?

What?!

What's going on? Who is this? Why are they texting me? D? Who is D? Is it somebody I should know? Obviously it's someone I should know, they know Scott. Wait, the only people that Scott knows that I don't know are his lacrosse friends. Why is one of the lacrosse players texting me? I'm going crazy!

_Sure._

Why did I answer that? Was it cold and distant? But what the hell should I have done? Add some kind of smiley face? I don't even know who this is; I'm not about to—

The phone rings. My chest feels like there's a horde of wild animals running around in there.

"Hello?" I pick up.

"Hey, Stiles! What's up?" he says merrily.

Whose is that voice? It's familiar.

"Uh, not much," I stammer. It's surprisingly difficult to have a conversation with someone whose identity is completely unknown to you. How many details do you share? I decide to go for it. "I just got home, like, an hour ago."

"Yeah, I figured as much."

"How so?" I hope the anxiety doesn't show in my voice.

"Well, I just saw you at the restaurant leaving with Scott and Allison. You said 'Hello', remember?"

It's Danny.

"Yeah, of course I do, I just—it kind of slipped my mind there for a second 'cause, you know…" Do I even know? "It's been a weird hour."

"Yeah, I believe that," he chuckled. I can't understand if he's saying it jokingly.

"So, what's up?" I ask, too loudly. Anything to change the subject.

"Oh, yeah, I hope you don't mind that I got your number from Scott, but he told me it would be okay, and I had something to ask," he announces with no waver in his voice. I, on the other hand, am perfectly losing my shit.

"Okay, shoot." 'Shoot'? Who the hell says 'shoot'? I can't pull off 'shoot'!

"Right, well, I was wondering if you were free tonight?"

And then I passed out.

What do I do?

I have not been planning for this. Had I been planning for something like this to happen, maybe I would be slightly better prepared, but I have not prepared for this, ergo I'm fucked!

Danny. Danny just asked me out. One of the hottest/nicest guys in the school just asked me out. When the hell did I trip and fall through some invisible portal to a parallel universe where I'm actually desirable by anyone besides middle-aged lonely men stalking strange cyber-sex websites?

Do I tell Scott? Yeah, I should. But then again, I would like to be cool and nonchalant about this. I can just see it happening:

"Hey, Scott, what's up?"

"Well, pretty much the same. You?"

"Oh, I just got asked out by a hot guy."

"Good one."

What are we doing? Where am I meeting him? Damn it, I've forgotten already! No, wait. We agreed on the diner, I remember that. Well, at least he's a casual kind of guy, I like that.

The butterflies in my stomach are going nuts. I have almost never spoken to him, and now I have to spend several consecutive hours with him? What the hell does he expect me to talk about? I can't be funny, only Scott finds me funny! I need to stop pacing. Sit down, Stiles.

"Stiles, what's wrong?"

I look up. My dad is staring at me worriedly.

"Oh, it's nothing, don't worry," I try to dismiss him. Is it rude? I mean, it's understandable to find it hard to keep a conversation going while having a stroke.

"Are you sure? You look frustrated to say the least."

I look up and glance at my dad's face, getting ready to mutter some piss-poor excuse when I see genuine concern staring me dead in the eyes. He doesn't look at me like that much anymore. It used to be his default setting back when I was having panic attacks left and right, but we've… adjusted.

"Yeah, dad, really. I'm just overreacting," I breathe after having visibly relaxed.

"Alright," he concludes skeptically. "You know you can talk to me right?"

I consider telling him the truth, but it's not entirely necessary, is it? Plus, my and Danny is not strictly speaking an image that he needs to form in his head.

"Of course." He nods as he walks away. Immediately, but not surprisingly, I feel a familiar pang of guilt. I hate breaking down in front of him, making him feel like he needs to protect me, as if I'm the only one of the two of us who would need the other to listen to their concerns. I'm almost an adult. I'm the closest thing to a best friend he's got left. I just wish I could make him understand that he can, too, talk to me.

Despite my short moment of soul-searching and serious thought, I have not found clarity about what the hell I'm meant to do about tonight. I call Scott and obviously he's at home, but not so obviously, without Allison. I get in my car and drive over as quickly as I can.

"I need help."

"Why? What happened?" he asks me with a ridiculous smile.

"Scott…"

"Well, tell me."

"You kn—"

"Come on!"

I sigh. "Danny asked me out."

Scott jumps up and down like a crazed puppy seeing its owner for the first time in days. He holds me and furiously pats me on the back while howling with laughter.

"That's great!" he shrieks "When did—"

"He told me you gave him my number," I say with no emotion. I was hoping that it would calm him down, but the statement barely did it. Then I realise something.

"Did you tell him to ask me out?" I demand while frowning.

"No! I swear!" he exclaims while waving his wide-open hands in front of him as if he's just been accused of manslaughter. "He came up with it all on his own!"

"Well… He'd better," I warn him while squinting viciously. But Scott's puppy-dog eyes get the best of me. "He's pretty cute."

Damn. Was that inappropriate? Is it too soon?"

"Cuter than me?" he reacts while posing dramatically. I reply, "Yes," with no humour in my voice and he laughs.

I ask him about advice, about what he did with Allison on their first date. Surprisingly, he remembers. Maybe it's not just a high school, teenager fling. I'm not saying they'll end up getting married or anything, but they seem to be in it for the long run. And the way he talks about Danny and me, he makes me feel as if everything is back to normal. Maybe even better. He's already suggesting double dates.

That's the reason he's my best friend. That's the reason anyone is anyone's best friend. Making the other person feel completely at ease when they feel like their whole world is spinning like a plate; it's not something just about anybody can do. It's as if two people are destined to meet and establish a friendship between the two of them, and I'm so glad I've met Scott so early on in my life. I have no idea what I'd do without him.


	5. Date Night

So, date night is slightly more nerve-racking than I had expected, but nerve-racking nonetheless.

I'm meeting Danny at the diner in about fifteen minutes, or should I say I'm meeting Danny _here _in fifteen minutes because I got here _twenty-five minutes early._

I don't know what to do with myself. The waitress has been over to take my order two times by now, I was forced to get some water. Between her judgmental looks and the sounds of my watch ticking the seconds away I would have ordered three burgers, a club sandwich and a milkshake to wash it all down just to get her to leave me in peace.

I keep telling myself I can do this, and it kind of helps. I can have a normal conversation. I can talk to a human being. I try to avoid saying his name in my head I will have plenty of time to panic about the fact that Danny is that human being when he's sitting opposite me.

And suddenly, just like that, it's eight o'clock. More importantly, it's eight o'clock and he's not here yet. Why is he late? Did something bad happen to him? Have I made a mistake on the time? Or is he just plain ditching me?

_No, Stiles. Shut up._

Danny is a good guy, he wouldn't ditch. This isn't a medical drama television show. If the most likely, normal thing is that he's running a few minutes late, then that's probably what's happening and there's no reason to worry.

Within a few seconds of me managing to calm myself down my system drowns in adrenaline yet again when I see him walk in. I perform an awkward wave to catch his attention and then smack my head over how jerky that probably looked. It also occurs to me that he just saw me smack my head.

"What was that for?" he smiles as he sits down in the booth with a look that could make a hitman of the Russian mafia melt.

"I just realised I… Left my jacket in the car!" Which is true. Not that I'm cold, but what the hell else should I say?

"Oh, yeah, it's really cold isn't it? We went from autumn to winter in, like, two days or something!" he says gravely. He makes something as boring as the weather sound interesting. I'm trying to change the subject but it's not as easy in practice.

Heavy rain clouds covering the full moon are starting to pelt the windows with heavy raindrops. My phone starts vibrating but I ignore the call.

"I know, right? Is it messing up with your lacrosse practice?" I ask interestedly. I already know the answer from Scott, but I mentally pat myself on the back for the skillful segue.

"Yeah, it does a lot, actually," he groans with a grimace. "Every time there's too many puddles on the field, or something, we have to take a rain check. Literally. It's pretty much a waiting game until the coach calls us to say that it's dried up enough and we should head over."

"It's a rough time for all of us," I nod sympathetically. Danny laughs. I made him laugh. Chuckle. _Chortle._

"It actually is for the coach, lacrosse is pretty much all he has to do in his free time after he broke up with his girlfriend."

We spend a good ten minutes discussing the coach. Thankfully, I've been on the lacrosse team, so I've gotten a taste of how he can be, so I have details to offer to the conversation. Eventually, the waitress comes up to our table, popping her gum like nobody's business and rudely asking us, "So, what's it gonna be?"

I couldn't care less. It's coming back to me now, his charm and wit from when I struck up a conversation with him at Derek's party. The ease with which he can keep a topic flowing, and interestingly at that, is admirable. I wish I had a way with words like that. Maybe if we hang out enough it's going to rub off on me.

Flicking through the menu, I try to find something which I can eat with a fork and knife, and not my hands and face. He doesn't necessarily need to see me pigging out on the first date. Of course, when he orders a cheeseburger, I get the exact same thing and wish for a world full of Dannies.

Of course, the food is heavenly, the company's great, and there's something vaguely comforting about sitting inside the warm diner while there's a storm raging outside. All in all, I'm having a pretty damn good time, and my heart rate even falls back down to normal levels somewhere between the first bite and the request for the check.

It's done. The date is done. We came here, we had our dinner, now we're paying and we're standing up. And I didn't _screw myself over._

However, he spends a couple of seconds squinting at me, as if he's examining my outfit or sizing me up.

" Do you want to go for coffee, or something?" he suggests with a weird smile on his face. There's a deeper meaning to his look. "I'm having fun, I don't want to go home yet."

I stare at him for a second, dumbfounded. What did I do right? "Yeah, of course! Let's go!"

As we're walking out—thankfully, it's not raining much—he suggests that we take one car. I don't know if it's the cold or what he said but I'm almost frozen to the spot.

"Let's take my car, I have my jacket in there and it's getting really cold," I giggle. I'm giggling the simplest of sentences. I'm like a twelve-year-old.

On the other hand, he giggles, "Sure," too, so at least we're being twelve-year-olds together.

We go into town and decide to play a little game we made up on the spot where we try to find the most hipster-looking coffee shop. It doesn't take long before we find it and we walk in. He takes his coffee black, I could never. I barely let myself have coffee as it is because the caffeine really gets to me; to have that bitter taste hit my tongue every damn sip would be some form of ancient Chinese psychological torture.

I decide to ask him some more other sorts of questions; questions one might call boring, and yet I characterise as revealing.

I ask him about any siblings he might have—only child—and other family-related things. Family means a lot to me, and I'm not saying that I want him to meet my dad or anything, but I really think a person's relationship with their family says a lot about them. Thankfully, he's on pretty good terms with both of his parents, unlike half the kids our age. I'm surprised when he tells me about the time his parents were separated for some time—there was an infidelity issue, apparently—and how detailed his description is. I didn't expect him to share something that personal so soon. Does he assume that it's okay to say something that serious since we already know each other, so it's like starting out on the third date?

Oh God. Please don't let him ask about my parents.

"How about you, then? What about your family?"

Damn.

"I—I don't have any siblings," I stutter to begin with, trying to phrase my thoughts. "But I live at home with my dad. We get on great. I think because it's just the two of us, we've grown really close to each other."

"Right," he smiles warmly and puts his hand over mine on the coffee table. I'm trying to stifle a noise somewhere between a shriek and laughter while I look into the most welcoming eyes I've seen in some time now. I come to the conclusion that he already knows about my mother, and he's understandingly not pressing on in the slightest. Instead, he comforts me. Smooth save, Mahealani.

I look down at our hands for a couple of seconds before he pulls his own away. I could get used to this.

"I didn't mean to pry, you know that, right?" he asks me reassuringly.

"Of course. Don't worry about it," I tell him.

It's not long after that before we decide to head home. He treats me to the bill—his excuse: it's for the gas—and I drive him back to the diner parking lot for him to get his car. I walk him to his car door, but when we get there, he's hesitating to jump in and he's playing with his keys.

"Thanks for tonight, I know it was pretty last call, but I had a great time!"

"Oh please, I barely have a life of my own. Nothing is 'last call' for me," I say. He laughs some more, as he's done for a good portion of the evening. I'm only half-joking.

"So, we'll do this again? Soon."

"Sure, I'd like that!"

He's pretty quiet for a second and he looks deeply thoughtful while he bites his lower lip. He has a sudden moment of clarity, as if he visibly decides to throw caution to the wind, and starts to lean in. Of course, this is my life so a group of people emerge loudly from the diner's back door and into the parking lot, very close by from us, ruining our little moment.

I look to see who would dare to interrupt the greatest moment of my romantic life so far, when I recognise a bunch of lacrosse players from my own school. I see some familiar faces from Derek's party, including Derek.

After we wave at them, Danny and I say our quick 'goodbye's and part ways. I indiscreetly watch him walk to his car, before I get into mine and get myself home. It's one of those drives where you can't really tell what you're doing, it's all routine and your mid is running around all over the place. I know I should be focusing on the road, but screw that.

Because, I think he was going to kiss me.

I'm giddy with excitement even when I get out of the Jeep and into my house. However, I soon realise I'm in for some more surprises when I walk in and see Scott with my dad watching some athletic event on the television and eating junk food.

They gladly invite me to join them, which I refuse politely. I tell them I'm going upstairs to change into something else. I almost ask Scott what he's doing over here, but it almost doesn't matter to me.

I'm pulling my sweatpants on when there's a sharp knock on my door and Scott barges in.

"Hey," he begins cheerily. I can tell he wants to tell me something, and I can already guess what that something is.

"Hi. Why didn't you tell me you were coming over? I could have told you to come later when I would have been in."

"No, no, it's cool. I like your dad's company," he reassures me. God, he's practically bursting to tell me.

"Or, you didn't want to miss a second of asking me about the date."

"So what happened?" he exclaims. Of course, I tell him everything. He's more excited than I am. I tell him about how great I find Danny, how everything just clicked, but not about the almost-kiss. No point in making a fuss over what didn't even happen. I'm obsessing over it, obviously, but not out loud.

"See?" he finally says when I finish telling him.

"See what?"

"I knew he was a great guy!"

"Of course he's a great guy, he's Danny. Everybody likes Danny." I'm trying to be nonchalant. Is it obvious?

"Yeah, but Danny likes you back!"

"Scott, relax," I'm soon laughing, "you're acting like he asked me to marry him or something."

His shot-down puppy-eye look works, but not well enough. Even though my night went great, it was pretty draining. I can't have him pissing himself from joy in my room.

Suddenly, Allison walks in.

"Okay, so do you two live here now, or what?"

"Stiles, what are you talking about?" Allison asks me as if I have no reason to be curious as to what is going on.

"How long have you two been in my house? And where were you when I came in?"

"Toilet," she squeaks. She turns to Scott. "I thought you'd said you were going to tell him we were going to be here."

"I tried, but he didn't pick up. I guess he was already on the date," Scott continues to talk about me.

"Oh, right!" Allison says with the face of a sudden revelation. "How did everything go?"

I tell her too, but not in as much detail, because I'm only human. To be honest, though, I'm enjoying the attention. For once, I'm the person who has a great story to tell, from whose lips everybody is hanging. It's a devilishly satisfying feeling.

Her reaction is relatively just as high-pitched as Scott's, and I conclude that this is yet another reason that these two are perfect for each other. I know that at some point at least one of them has wanted to ask me to agree to a double date, but I'm not ready to subject myself to that kind of awkwardness, not yet.

Scott suddenly runs out of the room with an "Ooh!" sound. I would have found this weird, but it's Scott. Allison and I discuss some details before he sprints back inside with a bowl of popcorn.

"How did you make that so fast?"

"It's from before, when we were watching the game with your dad."

The conversation rolls on and on, and at some point we start jumping from one subject to the next. Allison is biting her lip every now and then, but I ignore it. Stuff like that doesn't always have to mean something.

From there on out, that's pretty much it. Scott and Allison stay in my room and we laugh and we joke and we talk some more, we spill the popcorn, clean it up, make some more, decide we want candy instead, go and get some and come back and continue. Great night, great friends, great fun. So far so good. I just… I really hope nothing comes my way and screws everything up for me. That tends to happen in my life.

Maybe one day I'll tell someone besides Scott and my dad about my fucked up life. Hell, if Danny and I get close enough I can tell him the truth about why I live alone with my dad. But not right now. I've made enough revelations in this past day and a half. Opening up like that… It's just plain scary. If you don't take into account the freeing relief afterwards, spilling the truth about something might just be one of the hardest things people have to do, right up there with apologising and breaking up with someone; that's probably why people always put them off. Of course, this can't help but end up causing an even bigger mess in the end.

Why do we do that? Ignore the impossibly huge problem in front of us and opt for psychological turmoil instead, when we have a perfectly simple solution. It's as if a short and painful conversation is much worse than a self-destructive, internalised approach. At least we're damn good with avoiding the truth. It seem to me that it's the only thing every human being is capable of accomplishing, a skill neither learned nor taught, but borne within our entire species since the time of our birth. Denial.

I could use a lesson or two in letting the truth out, to be honest. Not that I'm a compulsive liar or anything, but I tend to keep my words to myself. Obviously, I've had some more serious conversations with Scott, but the ones I remember I can count on my two hands, probably. It's been kind of a defining trait for me ever since the worst thing ever happened to me, bottling everything up inside. I admire people like Scott: open, always predisposed to tell and ask and share. Maybe I'll ask him how he does it. There's probably nothing specific he does, but I'll ask him anyway. That implies showing my true colours though, which, as we have discussed, I'm not very good at doing.

Shit. When did I get myself in this depressed mood?

I guess I should mention the Scott and Allison have both left, hours ago. I can't sleep. It's… half past two in the morning. I heard my dad shuffle around outside my door. He always gets up to use the bathroom when he sleeps. Thankfully, I'm not a light sleeper, or he would have been waking me up every single night.

I hope he doesn't walk in here. He gets worried when I can't sleep, and I hate to seem him be so worried; especially because of me.

I just remembered. Scott got them junk food. My dad shouldn't be having that kind of crap. I'll remember to scold Scott later… "Scold Scott." That sounds funny.

Look at me, giggling in the dark. I need sleep.

"Stiles! Get up!" my dad yells for the millionth time. I guess it's an appropriate time for me to actually do it.

I open my eyes, get up and open the door to witness him running around with a tie clinging around his neck.

"What's the rush?" I ask without bothering to show any interest in faster-than-average movements.

"We have to be at Melissa's in fifteen minutes!"

Shit.


	6. Lunch

I barely remember what I did between the point when I woke up and found myself at the McCall house, it was all mechanical. Only sped up just about 38.5 million times. It doesn't really matter though because the air is dripping in awkwardness and God knows I'm letting it all soak in. The Stilinskis, McCalls and Argents, all under the same roof at the same time? Yes, please.

I'm not a mean person. I just appreciate a potentially amusing scenario when it's presented to me.

I can tell Allison is dying inside. At least the adults are being mature about it, but every single movement she makes has an edge to it. I don't know if she's trying to avoid or impress Melissa.

"Jesus, Stiles, you look like you woke up thirty minutes ago," Ms. McCall tells me when we're both left alone in the kitchen, trying to grab platters to move into the dining room.

"Well, that's good," I muse. "I woke up _twenty _minutes ago."

She laughs as she walks out while holding a huge casserole in her oven-mitted hands while I'm following her with the salads. At the table Allison insists that I sit between her and Scott.

"Allison, what is the matter with you?" I hiss under my breath. "You've met Scott's mom so many times now!"

"It's was always just a 'Hello' or something, not a full-blown dinner. With my parents present, too!"

"Well, just ignore them. Nothing is going to go wrong!"

In my opinion, nothing _did _go wrong. However, in retrospect, some details were not necessarily one hundred percent flawless, for example when Allison dropped the mushroom/artichoke thing and the platter shattered in the middle of the kitchen. But looking on the bright side, it wasn't Melissa who made it, so it wasn't as if her efforts had gone to waste; plus we didn't have to endure trying that putrid thing, so everybody wins! Well, except Mrs. Victoria, who cooked it. Or Allison, who insisted on cleaning it up. After that, I think she had a tiny, silent panic attack in her seat.

Other than that, things pretty much went smoothly for everybody. I had to endure some hits from Scott—or my father, had he been able to reach me—for laughing at inappropriate times, but that's like second nature to me by now. Nobody vomited, caught on fire or had to be rushed to the ER. All in all, a good birthday.

Finally, for dessert, Scott brought in from the kitchen a birthday cake he'd lovingly made for his mother, from scratch, icing and everything. I have to admit, I was slightly reluctant to ingest something that had been purely made by Scott, but it turned out to be pretty good. I mean, bless his soul, but the boy has never touched a cookbook in his life.

After that, we gave her all of our gifts. My dad and I got her this super-advanced mixer she'd been ranting and raving about for the past two weeks, according to Scott; either she loved it, or she's a really good liar. The Argents brought her a couple of books she said she found really interesting. I think one of them had something to do with her job.

It's not long after the presents that people start departing, including my dad, but I decide to stay behind and help with the cleaning up. As soon as it was only me, Scott and Melissa left, she opened her mouth.

"My _God_, that girl was a nervous wreck!" Straight to the point. That's why I love her.

"I don't think I've ever seen anybody be more tense, and I've watched my parents' wedding video! My dad trying to dance does not even begin to compare to her," I say while transferring piles of plates. I think Scott asks me to show him the video but the squeaking of the swinging kitchen door covers up his voice. As I'm emptying dishes into the plastic bag, alone in the kitchen, I once again become aware of the reason I never get tired of Ms. McCall's company: she's really just a kid. And not in that way all adults are children, deep down. Somehow, every time she opens her mouth to say something, she feels as if she's just part of our group of friends.

I wish I'll be like that when I grow up. I don't want to be a parent who's just a parent. A grown-up, responsible, parent who's emotionally involved in their children's lives, but never lets it show. Kind of like Allison's mom. You can tell she loves her daughter, and she's always there to guide her and all that, but that's it. She's Allison's mother, but not her friend. I think it's important to be both, even if it takes some extra effort. I've learned the hard way that family's worth that effort, and you should give it while you can.

"You don't know that!" Melissa whines while she barges in, closely followed by Scott.

"Yes, I do!" he counters. He then turns to me with his desperate look. "Stiles, tell her it's not a good idea to take Allison out for coffee."

"What? Why?" I ask. I'm already siding with Scott on this one.

"Well, she seems incredibly nervous around me and I don't think she should! So, maybe if we spent some time together she would see how nice I am and that there's no reason to be so tense," she complains defensively.

"But, mom, she already knows that! Don't you see her whenever she comes over, don't you remember how relaxed she looks? The problem was her own parents!"

"Well, they _are _kind of strict, from what I hear," I provide to the conversation. I'm on the fence with this one, now, so I try to stay neutral. On the one hand, Melissa and Allison out for coffee sounds terribly mortifying, but on the other hand, I can't really suggest any alternative, on a whim at least.

"Oh, that doesn't matter…" she decides while waving her hand around dismissively. "No matter now strict her parents are, and no matter how strict their own parents were, we all know how awkward it can be for your boyfriend's or girlfriend's parents to meet your own, because we've all been through it. I'm sure they understand perfectly well, it's just that Allison is blowing it up out of proportion in her head."

"Then there's not really much reason for you to get involved!" Scott desperately says in a high pitch. I have to admit, it's a valid conclusion. "Just leave it up to me!"

"Fine," she grunts begrudgingly, while rinsing things off and shoving them into the dishwasher. "Only because I trust that you'll take care of this. It's not right for her to be walking around thinking that her parents—"

"Mom, I will do it," Scott says firmly in a tone that screams 'End of conversation'. God, I hate it when things between kids and parents get a little feisty and you're stuck in the middle, trying to figure out what the hell to say or do or think.

"At least she didn't drop any of your food, everything you made was fantastic!" I try to change the subject.

"That's a very weird compliment, Stiles, but thank you…"

"You're most certainly welcome." And it's quiet, but the awkward kind. So naturally, I start talking. "We should have come here sooner, my and my dad could have helped you with cooking all of this."

"Oh, don't bother about that, I had plenty of help from Scott!"

I raise an eyebrow at him. "You cooked?"

"Hey, I can cook!" he exclaims defensively as he waves a plate.

"No, you can't," his mom laughs.

"Scott, you know I'm your friend, so I'm just going to tell you the truth: I'm worried doing anything to an egg would be too much of a challenge for you."

He pulls his sourpuss face and gets back to throwing out non-salvageable leftovers. We continue the process of trying to restore the house to its pre-lunch condition while we wittily and jokingly exchange remarks like these; hiding an insult in a compliment, some times better than others. If I had to choose the one quality in Ms. McCall that I appreciate so much—and I'm sure I've already said this a million times before, and I'll say it a million again—is how she is literally almost one of the group. Other parents just don't have it in them, they try too hard and end up embarrassing their child.

My mother used to be like her, too. Fun to be around, even to teenagers. Not as much as Ms. McCall, but still. And my dad too, he used to be practically 17; not as much now, though, that she's not around.

I would have liked to meet my parents as somebody else. Especially as a teenager, now. Or as their coworkers, that'd be even better. See the kind of people they really are, without the cheerful and unintentionally condescending masks adults put on when they meet kids. But I guess all parents do that up to a certain point. Scott's parents dropped the act when they had to admit the harsh truth to each other and to themselves and to their own son: they were splitting up. Mine stopped pretending right about when mom was admitted into the hospital. I don't know if I would have kept it going up until then. But I guess it'd be almost impossible for me to see it from their point of view, ever, so I can't really judge them for that.

I don't know if I would want to have known sooner. What good would it have done? When I found out, I was furious for being kept in the dark, but now, I realise how delicate the situation was, and maybe it was a mistake on their part, maybe it wasn't, but either way it was wrong of me to expect them to navigate it perfectly. It was just… a delicate situation. To be honest, it didn't really matter in the end. The way it turned out put everybody's previous actions into perspective.

That's the thing about a very horrible thing. It stops you from blaming others, from fighting and stubbornly and self-destructively distancing yourself from those around you. It brings people together. A mountain of grief has a few pebbles of goodness in it.

"Stiles?" Ms. McCall calls me soothingly.

"Hmm?"

"Penny for your thoughts?"

I stare at her for a second. Scott is not in the kitchen anymore. I've blanked out.

"Oh, it's…nothing. Not really worth a penny," I laugh. Will she buy it?

"You sure?" She's genuinely curious.

"Yeah." I pull out my best fake smile.

"If you say so."

I decide that I want to leave. I don't want to say that I _need _to leave, because I don't. I want to leave and I know it would do me good to be here around friends but, damn it, I feel like being selfish. I wish Melissa a very happy birthday, and when she tells that Scott's in the bathroom I don't wait for him to finish. I say 'My pleasure' when she thanks me for my help and I leave. I take my car and drive down the road, not really knowing where to go. No, that's a lie. I'm going home. I want to go home and shove myself in my room and shove the world out. That's another lie. I _need _to do that.

I clumsily park the Jeep, barely missing the garage wall, barge into the kitchen, slamming the door behind me, and my dad is standing in the doorway to the living room. He sees me like this, gasping and crying and falling apart and the worst thing, it's not the first time. I stand there, thinking about everything all at once, hating my mind for turning on me like this, coughing from my irregular breathing.

My dad comes over and takes me to the sofa. He holds me until I calm down. It takes about fifteen minutes, which is not too bad for my standards. It used to take about half an hour right back when the wound was fresh.

I hate doing this to myself, and I hate doing this to my dad. I hate that he doesn't get to fall apart, but I always burden him with picking up my pieces and sticking them back together.

It's about four o'clock now, and I'm starting to feel better. I've already had an extremely long shower and lied on my bed in my dark room for what has felt like forever but what probably was not even a couple of hours.

There comes a point after a panic attack when you feel ready to emerge back into society, not because you feel ready to conquer the world or anything, but because you've let out enough grief to exit the house and sustain some more. Sometimes it comes very soon. Sometimes it takes much too long. It's here.

I open my door and walk out. I go to the kitchen.

"I'll call you later," my dad hurriedly says to the phone and hangs up. "Feeling better?" he asks me. He knows by now, there's not point to being all peppy and cheerful after I return from my ritual mini-hibernation. If anything, it has the opposite effect than the intended.

"Kind of, yeah," I admit. I'm honest. I still feel pretty shit, but I'm definitely on a road back to normal. I start making myself a cup of coffee. So far, Sunday gets two thumbs-down from me. I sit at the kitchen table across from him.

"What do you want to do now?" By this point, he's learned that I don't like talking about it, or that there's not really much point to talking about it.

"I don't know. I think…" I almost say I want to go find Scott, but I don't want to. He's probably with his mother. So I spend some time with my dad.

I kind of judge myself for a second, for having chosen my father only as a last resort. There were times when he was the first person I would turn to whenever something terrible happened to me. However, I suppose that was only so because nobody else knew about the terrible things that happened to me.

We talk lightly about the lunch, and I mean very lightly. Barely two minutes' worth. He asks me what I did last night. I tell him the truth about my date. He's very interested, but he's playing it down and I can tell. I give him the details anyway, because I know he's dying to ask me. After all, he's my dad. Why should he not know? I tell my dad everything. I get jealous of kids that have everything and appreciate nothing all at—

No. I'm not going down that road again.

When it gets quiet, I decide to remove myself from the room and call Allison. I remind myself to start making some more friends when I start feeling better, and I bring up my calls. Then, I see Danny's name.

I call him. The line is ringing.

Why am I doing this? He doesn't need to hear about my big bag of reasons to not be friends with me, not this soon. I can't talk to him about this, I can't expect him to sit there and listen to my troubles when I barely know him. I don't even know if I can trust him.

It's still ringing.

Maybe I felt some sense of security yesterday, or I felt wanted and appreciated. Maybe that's what I'm expecting to get out of this, too. I know that I'll probably seem so clingy and desperate and… I just really need his comfort.

Seconds before he picks up, I figure it out: with him, last night, I was ecstatic. Today, I had a fucking meltdown, without him. Ergo, in my mind, Danny equals contentedness, so my first instinct when I see his number is to hit the call button.

"Hello? Stiles?" Danny answers with genuine curiosity.

"Hey, Danny," I groan. I'm already regretting this call. Why did I do it? I know why. Why didn't I stop myself? "What's up?"

"Uh, not much since less than twelve hours ago," he laughs. He's _so fucking nice. _More importantly, too nice for me.

"Listen, I know this is going to sound really weird and clingy and stuff," I begin awkwardly and yet truthfully, "but are you free to hang out? Like, now?"

There's silence for a few seconds.

"Stiles? Are you okay?"

"Yeah, of course."

"Are you sure? You sound… troubled."

"No, I'm good."

Some more silence.

"Alright, well, do you want to come over to my house? Do you know where it is?"

"Yeah, thanks, I'll be right over," I finally exhale. I hope my desperation wasn't too obvious in my voice, but I really have to do this. This is what always happens. I can't be alone whenever I get over an attack, I need my friends. And since my best friend and his mother are the origin of my attack, I have to opt for the next best thing.

So I get in my car and drive to Danny's.


	7. Comfort

"Hey, come in."

Danny opens the door as soon as I knock and steps aside to let me in. I awkwardly thank him for having me on such short notice. Soon enough, I realise I've passed this house so many times before, but have not been inside once. I don't know why, but it suits Danny like a glove. It's cozy, warm and inviting.

I follow him into the kitchen where he'd been sitting; doing some homework apparently, and I take a seat. He brings me a fresh cup of coffee and refills his own before he sits down opposite me.

"Did I interrupt you with that?" I ask, gesturing at his chemistry textbook.

"No, no don't worry about it. I was expecting some company pretty soon, anyway." Should I leave by then? Would it be awkward if I stuck around? I don't want to force him to have to introduce me as his boyfriend or as his friend or whatever else, because then it's just going to be weird.

"So, what's wrong?" he asks.

"What? Nothing. Why does something have to be wrong?"

"Stiles, I can tell something's up." He doesn't actually utter the words 'Cut the crap,' but his expression does.

I sigh heavily to buy myself some time. Should I tell him? He'll freak out. He'll think I'm some sort of weirdo. I can make something up. I can tell him I had a huge fight with Scott, or something. But he can easily find out that that's a lie. I need more time.

"Right, well, when I tell you, don't judge me, or think that I'm a loser or anything, okay? I didn't really want to burden you with this, all I wanted was some company."

"Stiles, what's going on? I'm starting to get worried here," he says quickly. The concern is twisting his face into an expression somewhere between fear and reserve.

Fuck it.

"So, you know about my mom's… You know, right?" I begin clumsily.

"Of course, yeah," he almost whispers and nods.

"Well," I go on, trying to phrase this the way I want it to sound, "today I was with Scott and his mom, and just seeing them together made me feel like absolute shit. And I don't know why, because I love hanging out around Ms. McCall, she's great fun. I don't know, I think maybe I got a little jealous and then I let that get to me…" By the time I finish I can actually hear myself sound like a greedy, miserable, downtrodden child.

"Oh, Stiles!" he exclaims and reaches around the corner of the table to hold me. He buries his face into my shoulder, against the side of my neck and I wish that everybody gave hugs like that. It's much more of a response that I was expecting to get. I was waiting for a pat on the shoulder and a half-smirk, or something. When he pulls back, judging from the look on his face, he feels worse than I do.

"Why didn't you tell me? I could have come over and—"

"Danny, it's fine!" I chuckle. Not because I'm happy, but because I'm astounded at his display of care. "Seven and a half minutes of driving won't kill me."

"But you said—"

"I know, but… I mean, I totally appreciate it but I didn't think you would be so worried if I told you! Besides, all of this was hours ago. The worst thing I could say about me right now is that I'm kind of bummed out."

"Okay…" he mutters thoughtfully, as if he's trying to decide whether or not to believe me. "Well, it's good that you told me anyway. You should tell people these things."

"Right, well, I can't just go running around town, telling people I had a meltdown over watching my friend wash a couple of freaking dishes with his mom."

"If it's serious enough that you would call it a meltdown, then you should actually have a go-to person for this stuff."

I look at my hands thoughtfully. "I usually just go home and lay down for a few hours, maybe have a shower before or after." Why am I describing these things in such detail? Maybe I needed more than just company after all. "Then I find Scott and we hang out and it always makes me feel better. But I couldn't do that this time because it's him and his mom that got me started in the first place."

I'm very careful about using the words 'panic attack', and I'm very much aware that he's already probably guessing at them.

However, my awareness is quickly dimmed due to his leaning in and softly as ever, pressing his mouth against mine and kissing me as if he's kissing a newborn baby's forehead. He pulls back and looks at me in the eyes. I'm swimming in his.

"Should I not have done that?"

"You should have done that sooner."

He smiles heartily and puts his hand over mine.

"I'm glad that you're telling me these things," he says honestly. "Even though you barely know me and should not really trust me with these intimate details," he jokes.

"Hey, I know you. We used to talk back when I was on the lacrosse team."

"Actually you tried to talk to me because you were getting bored sitting on the bench, but I was too busy playing to reply."

"Ouch!" He smiles even wider. And just like that, it all goes shooting out of my mind, all the racing thoughts and the tight chest and the irregular breathing are something that do not even begin to compare to the unstoppable force that is the fire Danny Mahealani inspires within me. His kiss is somehow going to my head and I'm still swimming; I go in for more.

He stops me with a light finger.

"Is there anything else you want to say?" he asks. I can't read his eyes.

"No," I reply honestly, but it feels like I'm lying. I want to say more, I want to confess something, there's a little thought at the back of my head nagging me but I can't quite get what it is. How can I tell him when even I don't know what it is that I want to say, anyway?

He raises his eyebrows as if to question my certainty.

"I'm sure," I reassure him. I'm not.

He kisses me again, and it takes longer this time for him to pull away and look down like a flustered schoolgirl and smile warmly enough to set my heart on flames.

He gets up to refill our coffees; apparently I've completely drained mine. I must have been really nervous.

"By the way, are you feeling any—" he begins, but is abruptly interrupted by the doorbell ringing.

"Should I leave? Is it going to be awkward?" I ask him outright, in a last attempt to get out of there before I have to endure _socialising._

"No!" he exclaims as if I've just uttered the most absurd notion he's ever heard. "Derek's a pretty cool guy, you should be fine."

Derek? As in Derek _Hale?_

Danny soon returns with Hale trailing behind him. Oh boy.

Awkward. That's what the introductions are. Because we already know each other. But we don't really, we just know each others' names; at least I know his name, why would he even know who I am? Just because we talked a little bit at his party? He might have been drunk which would cause him to not at all remember me which leaves me knowing him without him knowing me and now I'm just some pathetic kid desperate for friends who knows everybody's name, hoping that they know him too! And I don't know what to do with myself.

Awkward.

"So, I didn't know you two hung out," he announces as he walks to the cabinet to get himself a glass of water. Okay, good, we're past the weird standing-there-acknowledging-each-other-not-moving-passionately-nodding part.

"Uh, we only recently met, officially," Danny explains while taking our empty cups to the sink. I stand back and look at them move through the kitchen in perfect coordination, opening cabinets, rinsing things, pouring water, reaching for a towel. I could not be more unnecessary: they're like a married couple and I'm the third wheel who can't get a date for himself.

"At your party, actually," I provide.

"Oh, did you guys have fun?" Derek asks with a genuine smile. Well, at least he's nice.

Danny and I both reassure him of the fun we had at his party. From there on out, I don't have much to add to the conversation except a few lame jokes and puns here and there that earn me nothing but pity laughs. I don't feel sorry for myself, I should have left before Derek got here. I knew somebody was going to come, and I stayed. This is on me. The awkward is on me.

I almost tell them that Scott is planning a party himself, but I decide against it. He's been so excited about it, he barely talks about anything else, but whenever anybody besides Allison or myself approaches he stops talking about. So, for some weird reason, I can only assume that he's trying to keep it under wraps until it's time to actually invite everybody.

About half an hour passes before I become utterly insignificant once the conversation goes on to lacrosse. I wish I'd watched some games recently so I'd know at least something about a few teams, but no. I can notice Danny sometimes trying to direct the topic back to something to which I can contribute, but it's a no go. Derek is really going on and on about lacrosse. It's actually kind of endearing, how passionate he gets. And yet, somehow, he's the complete opposite of the stereotype high school jock-head.

Finally, as I'm getting ready to announce that I'm taking off, Danny utters the ill-fated words, "I'm going to use the bathroom for a second."

Someone get me an oxygen tank.

What the hell does Danny expect me to say to Derek? What the hell does Derek expect me to say? Why is this happening? I can't form thoughts. Welcome to the mind of a hyperactive teenager.

"So, I heard you were on the team as well, up until some point," he begins vaguely once we're alone together.

"Uh, yeah, I was, but I quit," I say. I try to make it sound low-pitched, like I'm not so excited to keep the conversation going but it sounds like I have something stuck in my throat.

"Can I ask why?"

"Ah, I just never got along with the coach. Plus, I had some personal things going on," I mutter. I translate that as, "I had to go to a therapist because my panic attacks were getting out of control." Thankfully, he only sees it as, "Please don't ask about any specific details."

"Good things, or bad things?" he asks with a raised eyebrow.

"Bad, mostly." Or entirely.

"Are they over?" he winces.

"Mostly, yes."

He nods slowly once, like he completely understands. Does he?

"So, how do you know Danny?" he moves on.

"We talked at your party, and we went out last night."

"Went out? As in, on a date?" he questions with raised eyebrows. Shit. Should I not have said that?

Danny walks back into the kitchen and we stop talking.

"What just happened in here?" he laughs. "You two look so weird, like you were trash-talking me and—were you?" he abruptly asks with an expression which is meant to be comical but is more believable than most.

"Stiles was actually telling me about how you two know each other," Derek says very calmly.

"And what did Stiles say?" Danny goes on with an interested smile, bordering on mischievous.

"He said you met at my party and that you had yourselves a little date night yesterday!"

"Did he now?"

What? Shit, I have no idea. Is he joking? Did I just mess everything up? Damn it, how do I always end up talking myself into trouble? I need to learn to keep my big mouth shut, that's what. Danny probably didn't even want to tell anybody before he knew that we were actually going to be something and who blames him, because, let's be real: me and Danny? There's no reason to go around, telling everybody and getting our hopes up from day one.

"He did. And, Danny, if I may say, it's about fucking time. You've spent enough time staring at Stiles from a distance."

Pills. I need pills and medication and a lot of it—and some fresh air.

"I'm sure that's not true…" I half-breathe, half-chuckle.

"Oh, really?" Derek exclaims. Apparently, the topic seems massively interesting to him. Danny, on the other hand, is turning bright red. "I can't even begin to count the amount of times I was talking to him while he ignored my to stare at you!"

"Okay, that's enough of that," he finally stops Derek. He makes short work of the topic, and sooner rather than later we're talking about something completely different. Not long after that, I give the news of my long-delayed departure. They both seem genuinely pleased that I stayed until I did. Even if they're faking it, I appreciate the gesture.

I drive myself home and I almost scratch my Jeep and my dad instantly stops worrying when he sees the smile on my face, but all of that, good or bad, does not even begin to compare to the fact that Danny has a crush on me.

I consider shrieking into my pillow, and then I remember that it doesn't actually work to absorb the noise really well, and that I'm not in a high-school movie. Somehow, this turned out to be one of the best and worst days I've had in a while, all rolled up into one. I mean, it's not very often that I find out that someone like Danny, an eight, has a crush on me, a solid five.

I spend some time taking it in before I seek out my dad and try and spend some time with him. Between his irregular work hours and the amount of time spend at Scott's house, we barely see each other on weekdays.

"You seem happier," he smiles. I do too.


	8. Rain

Crap. It's Monday.

I tell myself that it's the last week before Christmas break as many times as it is necessary to find the courage to get up. One of these days I'm going to have to learn how to manage my sleep schedule. Until then, I can reassure myself that I'll actually get around to it at some point.

There has never been a good Monday, not for me and not for anyone. The only way a Monday is good is if it's a holiday. And this one is not.

"Jesus, Stiles, how much sleep did you get last night?" is the first thing Scott says to me when he sees me outside our classroom. I flip him off.

"It's the last week and I'm white-knuckling it."

"You're not the only one," he replies and nods to somebody behind me. I look and see a girl trying to pick herself up off the floor.

"Did she just walk into her locker?"

"Yup."

"Well, I'm not that bad!"

"You will be unless you get your shit together."

Not one class goes by which cheers me up. Nothing is fun. Everything is draining. My thoughts revolve around going home to my one true lover: my bed. But then lunch comes around, which kind of cheers me up.

While Scott and I are walking to our table, we walk past what is thought to be the jocks' table, and we stop for a second for him to greet the lacrosse team. I generally stand by and wait, but this time Danny catches my eye and waves me over, when I realise it's the first time I've seen him all day.

"Hey. What's up?" I begin and smile warmly as I take a seat next to him.

"Good. How's Monday treating you?"

"Horrible!" I grunt and he laughs a little. "I am in desperate need for a break."

"Oh, come on, there's barely a week left. You can do it, Stiles, we believe in you," someone says. I look over to see Derek's face looking at me expectantly. I give a small giggle and he's instantly satisfied. I shake my head and smile to myself. I don't think I'll ever understand Derek Hale. Half the times he acts like a child and the other half he's more man than anyone I've ever known. But the fact that he's such a mysterious paradox is what makes you try to understand someone like him in the first place.

I conclude that Danny has weird friends and head to my table.

I quickly find out that Lydia Martin decided to join us today instead of sitting with her boyfriend and the rest of his friends—which, if you ask me, I completely understand. As soon as I sit down, she opens her perfectly-shaped mouth.

"So, Stiles, how was your date with Danny? I hear you two are getting along really well!"

I glare at Allison and Scott.

"We didn't tell her, I swear," she begins. "She already knew when she got here."

I glare some more and, however begrudgingly, I honestly answer her.

"It was great. We got along really well."

"'Great'?" she whines. "That's it? Come on, give us some details."

"That's kind of private," I counter, offended. I'm tired and sleepy and hungry, and this girl is completely invading my privacy as if I've known her for years. I would have no problem picking a fight right about now, but Allison kicks me underneath the table, and considering the two of them have been friends for some time now, she must be at least somewhat trustworthy.

"We'd run into each other on Saturday afternoon, and afterwards he got my number from Scott. Then, he called me and we went out for dinner that same day, and later we went for coffee, too."

"Are you guys going to go out again?" she asks more carefully.

"Probably. I mean, we really clicked, so why not?" I reply. I don't mention what happened on Sunday. Even Scott doesn't know. Thankfully, we don't talk about the date any more. I don't particularly enjoy sharing details about my private life with Lydia Martin, who, according to some girls, is the biggest two-faced skank you can meet in this school. She seems pretty nice, though. Maybe this is just one of her faces. I don't know; I don't want to be so heavily predisposed about her, especially so negatively, only because of idle gossip. I decide to keep my distance, but give her the benefit of the doubt.

The rest of the day goes on without anything worth mentioning happening really. That Isaac kid nodded at me in the hallway—I didn't think he had it in him to remember my face—but that's pretty much it. I guess it could have gone a lot worse, considering it was a Monday.

Oh, I just remembered: I almost fell asleep in class and fell out of my chair because of it and made an ass of myself.

"Dad?" I call out as soon as I get home. His car is outside for some reason.

"Yeah!" he replies as he jogs down the stairs.

"How come you're here?"

"Ah, I just had to grab something and head back to work. You okay?" he asks while trying to shut a briefcase, which I've never seen him use. I vaguely remember him getting it for Christmas some year.

"Yeah," I mutter while ogling the thing.

"Are you sure? You look kind of weird."

And then I do whatever I always do when I need to get him to stop talking. I know I'm a terrible person, but I have a useful weapon right at my disposal: my huge mouth. It would be a real shame to let it go to waste.

"Dad, honestly, you've been trusting me less and less lately, and I think it's seriously causing some issues in our relationship as father and son. When I tell you I'm fine and you don't believe me, I can't do—"

"You're fine," he declares and leaves the house.

I head right up to my room and dig up my laptop. I bring it to the kitchen and blast a song that's been stuck in my head all day while I try and cook myself something because I didn't eat well at school, but then again, I almost never eat well at school. There was this one time when Scott held an intervention for me and he told me I need to start taking care of my body before it starts deteriorating. It was only him in the room. It was both awkward and hilarious.

I decide on a few strips of bacon, which I would have never done if my dad were in the house. I hate eating stuff I don't want him eating in front of him almost as much as he hates not eating it because of me. But hey, if he doesn't start taking care of his body, it's going to start deteriorating, and I can't have that.

I serve myself some leftover salad from the fridge just for good measure and shamelessly congratulate myself on being so efficient as I walk up to my room to complete the homework that has to be done for tomorrow. It takes me a long time, but not longer than expected. Only another hour passes when I get a call from Allison.

"Hello?"

"Stiles? Are you busy?"

"That depends."

"I was with Scott when the coach called the entire team to come to practice, so I'm stuck on the bleachers watching these guys and I'm bored as hell!"

Long story short, I go. What can I say? She's persuasive. Also, I secretly want to go for personal reasons.

"So how long have you been here?" I grunt as I plop down next to her.

"Half and hour, maybe." A pause. "Thanks for coming."

"No problem," I half-smile while trying to shield my eyes from the ridiculous sun.

"Although, I have to say, you didn't need much convincing," she grins suggestively.

"Oh, ha ha, Allison. Why is it so enjoyable for all of you to poke fun at me every chance you get?"

"Trust me, if you were on the other end of it, you'd get it."

"Why didn't you take off, anyway?"

"I had to stay. I'm Scott's ride home."

Sooner rather than later, my eyes find Danny. It's kind of hard to miss him, since he's playing goalie. I have to admit, he's better than I remember. Player after player goes up to him, throwing practice shots and he catches a solid eighty-five percent of them.

"You know, you're not exactly making it easy for me to not mess with you when you stare at him like he's the dreamiest piece of eye-candy you've laid your eyes on," she remarks after a little while. Apparently, I've been staring for a couple of minutes now.

"Oh please, if I made a joke every time you and Scott got a little too touchy-feely in public, we'd probably be on a first-name basis, at best."

She huffs out a small laugh in response. Practice goes on like this for another half of an hour while Allison and I exchange what I like to think of as 'witty banter' and rain clouds look threateningly overhead. I almost make a poetic connection, as if it's not meant for them to be practicing today and the weather is trying to ward them off, but I don't voice it. When something sounds lame in your own head, you know it's bad.

However, wouldn't you know it, it starts pouring not five minutes later and we're all rushing to our cars or the locker rooms or anywhere that isn't wet. We go up to the parking lot but we have to split up because my Jeep and Allison's car are in opposite directions. I finally get in my seat, slam the door and turn up the heating as far as it would go. While I'm patting myself down and turning on the car lights, I see someone stumbling right in front of me. I consider honking at him to get out of the way, but the poor bastard's in enough misery, standing in the pouring rain, looking for his keys. I decide to wait for him to leave before I pull out of my parking spot.

Good thinking Stiles. Not running people over is always good thinking.

Nonetheless, when said poor bastard is taking forever, I open my door and start yelling.

"Hey, buddy! You're in the middle of the road!" I shout and immediately slam it shut. Three seconds was enough to soak my entire sleeve.

He stands up straight and looks at my car for a second. I can't make out his face, but I can tell you that yelling at a guy who would be prepared to stare you down, even when you are in a position to run him over, is not a good idea.

He strides over to my passenger door, and I almost soil myself when he opens it, sits down and closes the door behind him. It's Derek Hale.

"Hey, Stiles, I'm sorry about that. I just have no idea where my keys are," he gasps.

"Uh, ok," I stutter, still too confused for thoughts. I look him up and down and it's as if he's just come out of a pool.

"Oh my God! I ruined your car!" he exclaims immediately and the guilt in his face is real. I mean, he really did ruin the seat, but it's not as if it's the finest leather in all of Italy.

"It's alright," I try to say as nonchalantly as I can. "It was only a matter of time before I spilled something all over it, anyway."

He stares at me for a few seconds, and I stare right back. What do I say? Did I do something wrong? Should I offer him a ride? No, his car is right in front of us, there's no point in that. Why isn't he talking? He looks so guilt-stricken that I'm afraid he's going to offer me the soul of his first-born as reparations.

And then he laughs.

"Thanks. That's really nice of you."

"No problem?"

We sit in quiet for a few more seconds. How do I get him to get out?

"So, is that your car right there?"

"Oh!" he exclaims. "Yeah, sorry, let me just find my keys," he mumbles and looks in every pocket. Twice.

"Shit," he says to himself. "I must have left them in my bag in the locker room while I was changing."

"Well, I can give you a ride home, if you want; and you can come find them when the weather clears up, or something." Listen to me. A proper good Samaritan.

"Oh, no, no, you don't have to do that. If you could just drop me off somewhere near the locker room, I can go looking for them."

"And then, what? Walk back to your car in the rain? Or wait it out in the middle of the school? I'm serious; let me give you a ride. It's no big deal."

"But my house keys are in my bag, too. I can't get in my house."

"Alright, we're driving over, and meanwhile you call home and see if there's somebody there to let you in."

I surprise myself with my mature, adult decisions and, once more today, mentally pat myself on the shoulder for doing the right thing. Derek tries a few numbers using my phone—because he's left his own in his bag as well—but it doesn't look like there's anybody in.

"Well, do you want to call any one of your friends? I could drive you to their house for now. Or you can come back to my place? You seriously need a hot shower."

"You would do that?" he asks. We're at a red light, so I get to look at his puppy-dog eyes, which are cute enough to put Scott's to shame.

"Sure," I smile, my attempt at warmth. "It's your call. Where are we headed?"

"Your place sounds great."


	9. Guilt

Lord knows I love and appreciate my father, but as soon I pull up to the house I let out a discreet sigh of relief that he's not home to witness me bring home a wet boy. I would not have been able to take the jokes and the innuendoes.

I get Derek a fresh towel and direct him to the bathroom, after I hand him a plastic bag in which he can put all his dripping clothes. Very soon, I can hear the water running, and if the few wisps of hot steam that occasionally escape from under the door are anything to go by, he really needed a hot shower. I start warming up some water and make myself a cup of tea, but I don't make one for Derek, because I don't know if he wants one.

As I'm waiting around for him to finish, I remember that I have no idea what happened with Scott and Allison. I call her up, and she answers almost instantly.

"Hey, Stiles. Are you soaked?"

"Uh, no, not me. What about you guys?"

"We're pretty much fine. Scott's in the shower right now, he got a little bit caught up on the field and the rain… Got him. What do you mean 'not me'?" she asks curiously.

"Well," I begin hesitantly. "Do you remember Derek Hale? He was right in front of my car when he realised he'd left his keys in the locker room, so he just jumped in and I brought him back to my house until someone can let him into his own place."

"Are you serious?" she questions me, more amused than anything else.

"Yeah, he's in the shower right now." She thinks about something for a second.

"Does he have his bag with him?" she says.

"What? No, why?"

"What do you expect him to wear when he gets out of the shower?"

"I don't know, I'll let him borrow a sweater or something. Why?" I reply. I really don't see the point of this.

"And what about your underwear? Are you going to give him a pair of your own? Isn't that kind of weird?"

This might be the moment where I realise: I haven't thought this through.

"Alright, well, he won't die if he doesn't wear a pair until he gets home."

"And go commando in your pants?"

I groan and smack my forehead.

"Shit, I hadn't thought about this," I whisper fiercely, as if he will hear me if I speak any louder. "What am I going to give him to wear?"

And then I get an idea.

"Allison, I have to go," I say haphazardly and hang up. I sprint up the stairs and knock on the bathroom door. The water stops for a second but Derek doesn't reply. I realise he mustn't be very sure if he's heard correctly, so I knock again.

"Stiles?" he calls out.

"Yeah, it's me! Can I come in?"

"Uh… I guess."

I open the door and the steam hits me in the face. I couldn't see Derek even if he wasn't behind the curtain. I look around and I see the plastic bag on the floor.

"Sorry to barge in, I just wanted to take your clothes and put them in the dryer."

"What? Yeah, okay."

I get the feeling that he's trying to get rid of me, but can you blame him? I grab the bag and run out, closing the door as quickly as possible. I run downstairs and empty the bag into the dryer. A full load takes about 35 minutes to dry, so I'm hoping that a few pieces of clothing will take much less.

It's the most awkward moment that I'm going to have this week, I'm sure of it. And that's really saying something for me. Soon after I set the dryer to work, Derek calls out my name through the house. I call back and he walks in, wearing the towel. I tell him that it only just started, so it's bound to take some time. I offer him a cup of tea while he waits, and he accepts. He takes one sugar, and some milk.

On one hand, he seems awfully confident for someone wearing nothing but a rectangular piece of cloth. On the other hand, I would probably be pretty confident myself if my body looked like that. It's only human if I sneak a peek.

"Do you need anything else? I'm thinking of having a shower, myself. To be honest, the rain got me a little bit too." To be honest, I'm looking for an excuse to get me out of here more than anything else.

"Sure, no problem," he smiles warmly. "Stiles?" he calls as I walk out.

"Yep!" It never ends, does it?

"It feels kind of weird asking you this, but can I borrow something of yours instead? Preferably something warmer and longer than the polyester school uniform?" he asks timidly and points to the dryer with his thumb.

"You wore shorts in the middle of December?" I squint.

"The coach caught us off guard! It was the only thing I could grab on short notice!" he blushes. I smile and wave him upstairs to my bedroom. As always, I apologise for the apparently permanent mess, and I give him the baggiest t-shirt and set of sweats that I own, since he seems to be a size bigger than me in every direction, and a pair of my thickest socks.

"I don't think I have any shoes that'll fit you, but these might," I mumble as I think and hand him a pair of ridiculous reindeer slippers my dad got me last year for Christmas. "Don't judge, my dad gave them to me."

"What? They don't light up?" he chuckles as he squeezes the nose of one. I roll my eyes and jokingly push him out of the room.

"I trust that you'd rather wear your own underwear," I say with some restraint. I'm testing the waters of our newfound friendship.

"Yeah, thanks," he casually says over his shoulder as he walks down the stairs while holding everything in his arms, careful to not make any large step which would threaten the knot that holds the towel in place.

When I close the bathroom door behind me I sigh in relief yet again.

A steaming hot shower is exactly what I need. As the water hits my body my mind completely empties, except for a small nagging thought about the half-naked jock under the same roof as me. Either way, when I walk out of that bathroom door my nerves have totally relaxed. I get dressed just as casually as I expect Derek is dressed by now (i.e. in sweats) and hurry downstairs. I find him in the kitchen patiently waiting and going through an old TV magazine.

"Hey. How are the clothes?" I say.

"Perfect fit," he smiles. It's not his usual blinding smile, but not because he's masking displeasure. It's just that he doesn't feel the need to appear so overwhelmingly enthusiastic any more. He's comfortable.

"Great." Silence. I take a seat opposite him at the table.

"Do you need anything? Food, or…"

"No, no, thanks, I'm good," he replies. Silence.

"I used your phone while you were in the shower, I hope you don't mind. Nobody's back at my place yet, and the rain isn't letting up."

"That's okay, you can hang out here. There's nowhere that I've got to be, so…"

Silence.

We're not great at the talking, so I suggest we watch a movie while we wait. He seems pretty pleased about it, so I take him to the DVDs we have stacked under the TV and let him take his pick while I'm in the kitchen making some popcorn. It's not too long after when he sheepishly pops his head through the kitchen door and holds in his hands the Lord of the Rings trilogy. We decide on a marathon, and damn it, it was the best decision I made all day.

We barely got through a movie and a half, but you have to admit that that's kind of impressive considering those movies are three hours long and that the rain stopped as I was putting the first one in the DVD player. Had you asked me before today if I ever thought it possible to have so much fun with someone who's a little bit more than an acquaintance I would have said 'no'. Not only did Derek impress me with his extensive knowledge on Tolkien's works (a dork and a jock, what are the odds!) but he was also the exactly appropriate amount of talkative for us to be able to watch the movie without getting bored.

To be honest with you, I really didn't want him to leave.

"Stiles?"

"Hmm?" I moan through a mouthful of popcorn.

"Would you mind driving me home? It's getting kind of late, and my parents are both probably home by now."

"Yeah, sure," I say and get up, hoping that my disappointment at having to turn off the movie doesn't show through. I grab my keys from the coffee table while Derek gets his lacrosse uniform and we walk out. We drive to the school pretty quietly and he gets out and grabs his bag. Then, we set course for his house and we move through the ever-darkening city in relative quietness again, except for his giving me some directions every so often. That is, until he makes a comment about Gandalf and we're at it again, talking about this and that, agreeing and disagreeing, talking like two children bragging about their newest toys.

Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end, so we reach his house and he jumps out. He says 'goodnight' and thanks me for everything I've done today, and promises to return my clothes, washed and ironed, as soon as possible.

"And don't take that DVD out! We're definitely picking up from where we left off!" he yells behind his back and closes the front door of his house. I drive myself back home mechanically, with the biggest, stupidest smile on my face. I'm passing street lights, restaurants, people, houses, even Danny's place, but none of it couldn't mean anything compared to how warm I'm feeling inside. Not only is he my friend, he wants to be one, too. I realise this is kind of sad on my part, being so excited about making a friend, but to feel wanted and appreciated by someone who could have turned around and left at any point during the day, but instead chose my company, that feels pretty damn good and nobody can take that away from me.

Of course, any school night wouldn't be complete without me being unable to sleep at a reasonable hour and staying up way too late, causing myself to internally cry of desperation the next morning. This time, the only thing keeping me up is my guilt. My thoughts of guilt. My emotions of guilt about what I did today.

Why was I so happy to spend time with Derek? He's just a normal person. Sure, he's a pretty popular guy, and he obviously had a lot of fun today, which gives rise to an unexplainable sense of proudness, but that's pretty much all there is to it. Or all that there should be to it. There's something more there. Something, which shouldn't be there. Something I feel guilty about.

My thoughts keep going back to Danny. I passed his house on the way home, and I barely thought about it. I didn't spare him a second of my thoughts; I was preoccupied with thinking about the time I'd spent with Derek today.

No, this is all in my head. That's what I tell myself. I'll wake up and everything will be cleared out and I won't be confused, and the guilt will be all gone. There will be no thought or emotion to mess with me that a good night's sleep can't thwart.

Now, if only I could actually sleep…


	10. Different

The week is slowly paddling on, too slowly for my taste, but it's getting someplace. Tuesday mornings are not as bad as Monday mornings, but they're not a massive improvement either. Still, somewhere between my father's yells and my internalised anguished screams I find the courage and the strength to get up. The usual routine: wash up, have breakfast, brush my teeth, grab my bag, leave. However, to day as I'm walking by the living room a green blinking light catches my eye, and I realise that I've left the DVD player on.

Somehow, watching it die down and come back to life repeatedly doesn't induce the same emotion of contentedness as when I was actually using the machine, with Derek sitting by my side. I'm not thinking about that, I refuse to. It's not denial; there is just nothing to think about.

I switch it off and walk out the house, slamming the front door. I'm not sure of the point I'm trying to prove by doing that. Or to whom I'm proving it.

"Danny! Hey!" I practically shout when I see him in the school parking. He turns around with an almost frightened face—I can't really blame him—which soon turns into a bright smile. I catch up to him finally, and he surprises me by swinging his arm up and around my shoulders. We're walking, with his arm around my shoulders. He's holding me and we're going through the school parking. So, I guess, he's not a shy guy, is he?

"Hi! How are you? I didn't see you much yesterday!"

"I—I was at your lacrosse practice, actually."

"You were? I had no idea," he asks calmly.

"Yeah, Allison was there and she told me to come over because she was bored. I wasn't there for too long anyway: the rain started."

"Alright, well, we can hang out today," he announces cheerily before walking off to class and I'm almost twitching of nervousness. God damn it Stiles, get a grip. You're not doing anything bad.

Before I know it, I'm in history class and Lydia is sitting behind me and whispering to me, because apparently, we're on that level now.

"Maybe you can use concealer. You know, make up is not unmanly, a lot of guys do it," she says as she gives me a list of all the things I can do in order to make myself look more presentable and get rid of the black circles under my eyes. I don't have the heart to tell her I couldn't give any less of a shit and I secretly hope the teacher catches us so I'd have an excuse to find some peace. Going to bed at a reasonable hour is impossible for me, even if I try.

I gaze out the window while the teacher has a conversation with the really pretentious, annoying know-it-all of our class about whether or not Hitler was a psychopath and decide this is prime time for me to consider my conflicting emotions.

On the one hand, I've just gone on a first date with Danny, and I really like him and we get on just fine and I think he's really fantastic. On the other hand, after hanging out with Derek I felt really guilty as if I'd done some horrible deed.

I guess I have to admit to being a little bit physically attracted to Derek. But, I mean, who wouldn't? It's perfectly natural for someone who is already in a relationship to be able to acknowledge the attractiveness of other attractive people who happen to attract them. And as a matter of fact, I don't consider myself to be in a relationship. I only went on one date with Danny, that's barely a fling. We never said anything about being exclusive. Although, it rarely ends well when people cheat on each other with the excuse that they were never declaredly "exclusive".

No, Stiles! You didn't cheat on anybody. Damn it, why do I always have to remind myself that? It's probably my good conscience kicking in.

Yeah, that's probably it.

Finally, Lydia has finished talking about my horrid appearance.

I stand at the school's main entrance, overlooking the parking, trying to figure out where in all of hell did I park my damn car. It's not in my usual spot, or anywhere near it—or anywhere in that entire row, for that matter! I try to remember my surroundings as I exited the Jeep this morning, just to get some clues as to where it might be close to, but it's a no go.

I'm just about to start pulling out my hair when somebody hugs me from behind.

"Are you hungry? Let's go have lunch," Danny says.

It actually works out quite well for me since I am indeed ridiculously hungry, and we can return for my car later when there will be fewer occupants of the parking spaces and I will be able to see it. Theoretically.

While he drives, I notice his iPod is plugged into the car. I grab it from the cup holder and search for a good song. He surprises me with his wide range of genres, but I have to say, he has some good taste in music.

Damn it, I love that I can pig out in front of Danny and he doesn't even judge me. Not only that, he joins in. Having said that, I believe we have to admit that fried chicken is pretty hard to consume without covering your mouth and the area around it in grease.

"So, you were at the lacrosse practice yesterday?" he asks between bites.

"Yeah, I was. Did you get caught in the rain?"

"A little bit, yeah. You?"

"No, not much. Derek got soaked though."

Danny gives me a look somewhere between disbelief and amusement.

"Since when do you and Derek talk about your day?" he scoffs.

"Actually, I ended up driving him back to my place, because he had gotten stuck out of his car and house, so…" I realise that as I say this, my voice gets quieter and quieter. Now he looks just plain confused.

"How did that even happen?"

I tell him how Derek was standing in front of my car, looking for his keys in his pockets, how he jumped into my car and I told him I could drive him back to his place, how his bag with all his things was in the locker rooms. I skip the part when Derek was naked, for obvious reasons. Not that I don't trust Danny to be rational and logical, but I don't think a tiny, little omission like that would hurt anybody too much.

In the midst of eating and omitting, I decide to head to the bathroom. When I get back, Danny tells me that after lacrosse yesterday he'd run to his car and drove straight home. He complains some about the coach, which I find completely understandable. It's a pretty shitty move on his part to expect the entire team to be at his constant disposal, ready to practice in half-dry field, mainly because he has nothing better to do with his days.

"I just wish he could just figure things out with his girlfriend and stop taking his frustration out on us," Danny says nostalgically. Honestly, it does seem far-fetched, but knowing the coach it's actually very possible that this is indeed what he is doing.

And then, my phone rings. I let it ring but Danny insists that I pick up. My hands are horribly greasy so I set my phone down and attempt to set it to loudspeaker with my knuckle.

"Hello?"

"Stiles? It's me, Derek."

"Oh, hey… Derek." Danny looks up from his paper plate. Why was loudspeaker even invented?

"I can't really talk right now, but I was going to ask you if you were going to be in today? I want to stop by at some point, return you your clothes."

"Uh, yeah, I will."

"Great, thanks. Bye."

I hang up and Danny raises an eyebrow.

"You and Derek seem pretty close now."

"Yeah, how about that?" I chuckle nervously.

"Do I even want to know why he has your clothes?" he smiles curiously. Well, at least he doesn't seem to be assuming we did the dirty and then Derek scurried off in my clothes, so at least that's something.

"It's nothing," I say, trying to sound as reassuring as possible. "I just gave him a change of sweats because his outfit was soaked."

"Really?" he smiles deviously. "Maybe I should have gotten _my _outfit soaked, as well."

I choke on my chicken.

"Hey. What's up?" Derek chirps as soon as I open the door. After he realises what he actually came here to do, he hands me a bag of my clothes with a polite statement.

I've only been in the house for about an hour and Derek shows up at my door with his promise of my clean change of sweats folded and placed, neatly ironed, in a plastic bag. Danny dropped me off, when we finally found my car, at the school with a quick hello and no further reference to Derek whatsoever.

"Come in," I invite, opening the door wider and stepping aside for him to enter. It would be rude of me to just send him off without inviting him inside, wouldn't it?

Wouldn't you know it, it's only fifteen minutes later and we're both sat in front of the television again, watching Lord of the Rings, with smiles on our faces, popcorn in our laps and nothing on our minds. I'm surprised at his eagerness to continue watching when I make the suggestion, only half-serious, but I am thoroughly pleased by it. Scott sends me a text message at some point, asking me if he can call me but I say no—not without a slight pang of guilt, of course.

I remember this moment. It's the same as yesterday. A little conversation here and there, when the on-screen dialogue isn't that important—besides, we know the plot off by heart—some interesting facts about the movie and the characters and each other. Most importantly, moronically smiling my ass off, but what can you do?

Soon enough, the second movie is over and Derek gets up with no hesitation to refill our drinks while I stick the third DVD in. In some strange way, we've already become close enough that he knows exactly where everything is in my kitchen, and he can help himself to anything without asking for any sort of direction or permission. I try to think that it's somehow symbolic, how letting him into my kitchen is not unlike letting him into my life, but it sounds silly and there's a slight air of a sexual innuendo somewhere and I can't quite put my finger on it.

A few moments into the third movie, my dad gets home.

"Hello, sir," Derek says and gets up to shake his hand as soon as he walks in. Manners, manners. They get introduced and I sit by and watch the two adults make some small talk. The only think I find myself capable of doing is picking up the remote control and pressing 'pause'. Derek soon returns to sit by my side and my dad gives me a knowing, discreet smile as he walks by to go to his room, probably. Just like that, I feel that yet another awkward conversation with my father is imminent.

"Let's continue," he says.

The next instant, it's eleven o'clock and the movie's only just finished. I feel my eyelids drooping but at least I'm glad to see that I'm not alone. Derek yawns and makes a remark about how we lost track of time while I mentally summon the strength of a million hurricanes to get my ass of the couch. I could very easily just pass out right now. Maybe this is my opportunity to start sleeping at a reasonable hour.

Maybe not.

I pretend to care about cleaning up, but Derek joins in, and he doesn't back down when I urge him to stop, so I have to commit. We quickly get rid of the bulkier pieces of garbage and spend a few more moments chasing after stray pieces of popcorn. He finally washes his hands, grabs his things, and heads for the door. I open it for him, because I have manners too, thank you very much.

Silence walks in through the open door, uninvited. I'm not sure if it's unwanted as well. Derek and I go blank for a second, only staring at each other and holding that gaze before saying our hurried 'goodbye's. Today was different than yesterday.


End file.
